


Addictions

by E82



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2018-08-27 22:39:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 44
Words: 341,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8419942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/E82/pseuds/E82
Summary: Tracer has a slight problem. Ever since her mission to London, she's unable to get her mind off Widowmaker, who incidentally faces similar problems herself. But the price for their mutual affection is a high one, coming at the cost of more than they ever imagined. Soon they find themselves facing off new threats and old enemies with unexpected allies. Tracer x Widowmaker as main pairing, Pharmercy will appear a lot later, contains foul language, rather explicit torture and of course lemons at the right time.Originally posted on FFN, copied until chapter 21. Now ongoing.





	1. Scotch all night

**Watchpoint Gibraltar: Overwatch headquarters, approximately 2030 hours**

Lena Oxton, or better known under her call sign 'Tracer' had seen better days in her life. And that did mean a lot, considering what she had been through in those short 26 years she had been alive. Her accident during the test flight with the slipstream prototype was one of those events, followed by all those months in which her physical body dissolved and she was lost in time, not really here, but not really gone either. Drifting in and out of reality like a ghost felt horrible, completely disconnected from anything and anyone, no one realized she was even there, no matter how loud Lena screamed at them or how hard she tried to kick their butts.

Yet Lena didn't feel as bad back then as she did now. And the worst thing about it was, Lena wasn't even in any kind of immediate danger, her body was anchored in the presence and she was currently living in the safest place on all earth. There was nothing dangerous about her situation. Not at all. Well, at least nothing which would cause her any _permanent_ harm or nothing a few aspirin tomorrow couldn't fix.

Oxton was sitting in the small but welcoming bar of the Overwatch headquarters. And she was doing so alone, leaning over the counter, staring into a clear crystal-glass filled with a tangy dark -almost like a football- brown liquid. A single large cube of rough ice was swimming inside as Lena gently swung the glass around, causing a tinkling noise from the cube of ice softly touching the expensive glass. Right next to her, also on the counter was a half empty bottle of Aberlour A'bun Batch 47, an okay-ish scotch, which Lena had picked from the massive orange backlit glass shelf behind the counter. It filled the entire wall of the bar and offered basically everything the spoilt palatal could possibly desire.

Lena had a rudimentary understanding of good Whiskey, her father used to drink the finer drops on a more regular basis. He also used to tell his only daughter what made a good whiskey good. Even though young Lena might not always have listened whole-heartedly to her father's lessons in choosing exquisite Scotch, she did remember one or two things. All of which she had already forgotten by the time of her second glass.

And now the bottle was half way gone.

Oxton wasn't usually one for heavy drinking, but today was different. She needed to shut her hyperactive brain up. Ever since she had returned from her last mission Lena was confused, stupid thoughts were crossing her mind, pictures of someone she didn't want to think about at all, small details and little hints, which made Lena lose her mind. The flight back to the headquarters had been the worst kind of torture, not because the mission in London had been an utter disaster -Tekhartha Mondatta was dead, Tracer couldn't save him- no it was because of the woman who killed him.

_'au revoir, ma chérie'_

Widowmakers voice was stuck in Lena's head, still ringing in her ears as if the woman with the unnatural blue skin was in the same room, whispering these words into Lena's ear over and over again. The assassins face appeared in front of her again, those cold, golden eyes, which she couldn't help but think held a cruel sadness in them, stared back at her. Every detail of Widowmaker's face was right there, Lena could almost feel her breath on her own skin.

She rubbed over her eyes with her left hand in a futile attempt to get rid of the mental image of Widowmaker, while she reached for the whiskey with the other hand. Tracer felt like flying off the handle. It wasn't the first time she had encountered the cold-blooded assassin in battle and each time they met each other on the battlefield they engaged in a strange kind of fight, something Tracer was sure meant more than fighting each other, yet she had no idea what it was supposed to mean otherwise. She just knew there had to be more to it. Their dance was always was the same, they started out rather aggressive and violent, only to lose ferocity throughout their fighting. It was almost as if Widowmaker always remembered something important but long forgotten right in the middle of the action, which forced her to go easy on Tracer.

It always had the same outcome. In the end, the two enemies split with a really weird goodbye, leaving the bubbly Overwatch-agent at a loss for words and completely confused.

The first time it happened, Lena just waved it off as her wild imagination, reducing her confusion to the fact that she might have been caught off guard by Widowmaker's exotic beauty and her graceful, sublime way to glide over the battlefield. 

The second time Oxton was starting to seriously think about her encounter with the enthralling assassin, wondering if there might be a deeper meaning to things than the naked eye would let on.

The third time she had fought Widowmaker drove Tracer so crazy, she grabbed a bottle of scotch in Overwatch's bar, trying to numb the confusion concerning someone, who should have been her mortal enemy. Unfortunately the desired effect of forgetting had yet to set in and Lena couldn't help but wonder, why she felt that overwhelming urge to get to know the dangerous golden eyed killer. Who was she behind those sad eyes of hers? Tracer didn't have the first idea why, but she somehow suspected Widowmaker might be a lot more complicated than anyone would think. She also knew it was complete madness to think that, but Oxton couldn't help it, the thought just mercilessly kept popping up in her head. Unfortunately the booze wasn't helping with that the way she would have liked. _Damn that increased metabolism, stupid time accelerator, I can't even get properly drunk_.

Lena noticed a hand, which wasn't hers, reaching past her and lifting the bottle of Scotch on its neck, checking the filling level.

"Oxton, aren't we a little small for half a bottle of Bourbon?" a deep voice asked with a dry humor underneath it, before the acrylic transparent barstool next to the nimble warrior was pulled away and someone seated himself right next to Lena.

"Morrison, luv this ain't none of ya cheap American Bourbon. This is real, true Scottish Whiskey. Real Scotch" Lena replied with a teasing smile on her lips, looking up at Jack Morrison, also better known as Soldier: 76, who was now sitting right next to her with a one sided smile, shaking his head.

"What are you doing here all by yourself?" he asked.

"Enjoying a drink" Lena replied gesturing towards the bottle as if it was totally obvious. Morrison wasn't a friend of hers. He was more of a colleague, maybe a comrade, or a brother in arms, someone Lena trusted with her life. But right now she was just glad that someone was there to drown the confusing whispering voice of Widowmaker in her head. 

"You are the only one I have ever seen in this bar, legitimately drinking" he stated coolly, yet he sounded like asking _what's wrong?_ It was strange, he had never seen Tracer with alcohol before. True, they weren't close or anything and Jack didn't have the first idea what Lena usually did in her free time, but somehow he didn't take her for one who would drink alone, or drink at all for that matter. And he usually was rather good with people. Also, Lena was slender built and not taller than maybe 5' 4'', he wouldn't dare to guess her weight, simply because you don't guess the weight of a lady, but he was sure that half a bottle of Whiskey for her weight should have been enough to knock her dead off the barstool. Yet she was still sitting there, not even slurring.

Lena might have been tipsy -scratch that- drunk, but she still understood what Morrison was talking about. Still, she chose to expertly ignore it. "That ain't true, innit? Reinhardt comes down here a lot!" she replied.

Morrison laughed "Oxton, Reinhardt is German, coming from a place where beer is considered food not an alcoholic beverage, he doesn't count. I have never seen a German drunk because of beer; it's like water for them. Surely it comes out of their supply system instead of it as well"

"Pff" Oxton huffed, slouching her shoulders. "Fine. What about Genji and Hanzo? They are here sometimes?"

"Once a year to celebrate something, they drink one Masu of Sake each. You are through half a bottle of Bourbon-"

"Scotch, luv. It's Scotch" Lena interrupted, rising her glass as if it would demonstrate the difference, before emptying the last belt of the expensive alcohol.

"-Scotch, all by yourself."

Lena rolled her eyes, leaning over the counter, grabbing another fine crystal glass from behind it, before tossing a cube of ice into the glass and filling it with an adequate amount of Whiskey, just barely enough to make the large chunk of frozen water float. With a smooth move of her hand, she let the glass slide over the brushed metal surface of the counter right into Morrison's hand.

"Now I ain't drinking alone anymore, innit right?" she asked, filling her own glass again. "Drink up, luv so you learn how real, proper Whiskey is supposed to taste like" Tracer clinked her glass against Morrison's, who rolled his eyes, but did as he was told, chugging the Whiskey down in one gulp. There was a moment of silence before the storm, in which Lena looked at him as if she waited for something. Then, from one second to the next, his face convulsed heavily, causing Lena to laugh whole-heartedly. She didn't expect the battle proven warrior to react like that when drinking some booze.

"To strong for ya, luv?" she asked with a happy, yet definitely teasing smile on her lips.

"How the fuck are you still standing!?" Morrison coughed as an alarming heat was spreading down his throat and into his stomach. How much percent had that hellish Bourb- Scotch? He reached for the bottle to check, but it was taken from his hands by Oxton, who refilled his glass.

"My father would kill you for drinking it like a shot" she laughed. "You Americans have no class, have ya?" Tracer teased.

"Very funny, British girl. You know I'd be mad at anyone for saying that, except for you."

"That's because you know who it's coming from, luv, innit?" she smiled widely at Morrison, who could not help but chuckle. Oxton was a good girl. A great fighter, an awesome warrior and also an outstanding person. She was always so lively, happy, outgoing and heartfelt, it was hard not liking her and even harder being mad at her. True, sometimes her personality was on the verge of being annoying, but Tracer usually made up for it by her unwavering desire to help people. No matter in which troubles it got her, she stood up for those, who needed it the most.

"Now that you have successfully procured a booze buddy, mind telling him what's bothering you, Oxton?"

"Nuttin, luv" Tracer replied way too quickly to not be suspicious. Morrison rose an eyebrow, so Lena hastily continued "Do I need a reason?" she asked, not wanting to think about the real reason why she was filling her head with alcohol at all. The image of the blue woman in her skin tight bodysuit reappeared in front of Tracer for a moment, replacing the Soldier for but an instant.

Suddenly Lena saw Widowmaker right next to her, gracefully leaning over the counter her delicious curves teasing the eye with that skin tight bodysuit and the way she saucily pushed her hip out, while holding the glass of Whiskey and smiling boldly, which sent a cruelly warm shiver up and down Tracer's spine. She felt her mouth open, only for her to close it immediately.

Lena quickly blinked the illusion away, she didn't want to think about _her_ anymore. She couldn't anymore, the expression Widowmaker had on her face when Tracer asked her about her reason why she killed Tekhartha, it made the Brit lose her mind. She couldn't figure it out, she didn't understand why she felt something different than hostility and she also didn't understand what it was that she felt instead. All she knew was, that it wasn't normal, not the way it was supposed to be and that it needed to go away as soon as possible.

"Well, I don't suppose so" Morrison replied carefully.

"Excellent. Drink up then, you have to catch up."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, this is the first work I publish here on Archive. Usually I am more active on FFN and this story has been posted there before.  
> I actually don't know why I post it here as well, especially considering that the tag-system is really confusing me. So if something is wrong or missing please tell me and I'll try to fix it. 
> 
> Also, since I am not native to English, I am aware the spelling and grammar is not 100%. For this reason I have a very kind Beta-reader since chapter 4. 
> 
> Please enjoy!
> 
> Oh, yes, one more thing: I have already added the Pharmercy/Rocket Angel pairing. This will develope rather late in the story. In the beginning Mercy still considers herself straight.
> 
> If you want to support the story, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction
> 
> I chose tipeee because you can just do a one-time donation and don't have to do it monthly. This page only exists because a lot of readers asked me to do so. In all honesty, I'm not so sure if it's a good idea, but hey. Here you go. Please note that I absolutely don't want anyone to feel like they have to donate. Do it only if you really want, it is greatly appreciated, but I will continue without tips too. This is my passion and I do it for that reason.


	2. Heavy Rain

**Unmarked Talon controlled freighter, Baltic Sea, secret operation base for continental Europe, around the same time.**

The cold, heavy rain pouring down on her skin like a waterfall from the dark and cloudy skies went completely unnoticed by the woman in a skintight bodysuit, who walked over the deck of the freighter. The icy water matched her body temperature anyway so Widowmaker wouldn't have noticed it, even if she'd have concentrated on it. Harsh winds were pulling on her long, purple hair, yet the meanwhile drenched woman simply ignored it, there was no point in complaining about the weather anyway.

The cold-blooded assassin walked away from the transport-aircraft, which had picked her up in London, through the heavy, dark rain straight towards the entrance into the freighter. Despite the unusually heavy sea, Widowmaker never faltered, her long beautiful legs carried her safely forward.

Reaching up to her face, she wiped the salty water out of it, cold skin touching cold skin, her face felt numb, the touch of her hand almost painful. Widowmaker had to admit that today had been one of her oddest missions, which she had ever conducted. Normally, after a successful assignment, Widowmaker got the feeling of at least some life returning to her almost dead body. It was what she lived for, that one moment of feeling _something._ And it had been a very successful task, yet something was very much amiss.

Today was different.

Her target was eliminated.

Yet there was again that vast, never ending _nothingness_ inside her heart and Widwomaker hated it. No, that wasn't true. It wasn't true at all, there had been something completely opposite to _nothingness_ filling her cold heart today. But that couldn't be, it was totally impossible and disturbingly confusing. Widowmaker was never confused, she always had a clear mind and a unwavering sense of purpose. At least she had since she was made Widowmaker.

The assassin took her infrared visor off her head, before she pressed her hand to a scanner on the wall next to a door. The surface lit up, scanning her fingerprints, before a short beep signaled clearance and the door slithered open with a silent hiss. Widowmaker walked inside, greeted by a long dark corridor lit with red lights. The loud winds and heavy pattering of the rain suddenly was gone and nothing but a heavy silence greeted her, the only sound was the faint humming of the freighter's engines.

Widowmaker stared down the dark corridor, it bore some resemblance to how some people might have imagined the entrance to hell. A bottomless, dark hole leading straight to the underworld. The dim red lights didn't do a lot to lift the creepy atmosphere.

Talon's best hitman had been here a thousand times before, she didn't even waste a second thought about the admittedly poor design choices. Her legs carried her automatically down the aisle, switching corridors absent-minded while she made her way to her destination. She didn't even have to think where she was going anymore, her body was running on autopilot.

Which was a good thing, because it left her time to think about different things. While it was true that the moment of the kill today didn't give her any kind of satisfaction, that didn't mean nothing during the events of this day brought that feeling to the cold assassin.

There had been this girl again. That... annoyance.

 _Tracer._ The bubbly Brit made a habit of interrupting her work and it usually unnerved Widowmaker to no end. But at some point during their fights, something unfamiliar inside of the blue woman changed, something strange and foreign, which she seemed to have forgotten. It involuntarily made her slow down more and more, until the assassin usually reached a point where she had to either face her inner turmoil or retreat. And Widowmaker, being mostly scared of what she'd find inside herself, should she dwell on that kind of foreign feeling she had around Tracer for a lot longer, always chose the second option. She had no idea why, but she always said goodbye to Tracer, as if to remind herself that they'd see each other again.

Back at Talon headquarters her mind was -according to schedule- wiped clean again and the next encounter with Tracer developed just like the previous one. They fought, Widowmaker remembered something she didn't recognize, they slowed down, the assassin had to leave, she said her goodbye before her mind was wiped again.

Today was different, though. Today they had some kind of interaction for the first time. For the first time Tracer said something to her, something more than a teasing remark to catch her attention, something more meaningful, addressed directly at her, while those warm, hazelnut brown eyes peered right into Widowmaker's damaged soul. That question. That _one_ question, asked with heavy emotions and almost trembling voice.

_'Why?!... Why would you do this?'_

And all Widowmaker did was laugh, at the time her answer seemed too clear, her motives so natural. But the more she was thinking about it, the more her carefully crafted web of explanations dissolved itself.

Tracer had sounded so... sad. Like she was in a complete turmoil. The question was still ringing in the back of Widowmaker's head, and usually the answer was an easy one. _I do it to feel something._ Yet today things were different; somehow they had changed. What made the brainwashed assassin feel something today wasn't the kill.

As much as Widowmaker was reluctant to admit it, but the source of emotions today was no other than Tracer herself. She could recall the moment in which that fit, slim body in skin-tight orange pants and bomber jacket slammed into her, before it pressed against hers, holding her down on that rooftop in London, the warmth she radiated off seeping through Widowmaker's bodysuit into her cold skin, filling her modified body with new life, like it had just happened.

Tracer's hot breath against her cold skin, giving Widowmaker something she hadn't had in a _long_ time, something she didn't even realized she missed. Human contact. Doing as much as thinking back to Tracer and how she had touched her felt like the Brit was still there, right in front of her, touching her all over again. It wasn't even meant that way, Tracer's intention surely wasn't to do Tekhartha Mondatta's killer a favor, but Widowmaker couldn't help and enjoy the feeling, or better the memory of the Overwatch agent's touch. She would have liked to stay a moment longer underneath the bubbly Brit, but unfortunately it was impossible.

The memory felt nice, though. It was something good. Worth holding on to and thinking back to it, there might have been a faint tug on the corner of her lips, bringing something like a smile to her otherwise stern face. Yet at the same time the memory made her feel joy, it also confused Widowmaker like nothing had before. This wasn't her. She didn't feel, she couldn't do it even if she wanted to and quite frankly she didn't want to either anymore.

Feeling inevitably meant pain for her. It always did. She shadowy recalled once loving someone, but it only brought her pain. She remembered fighting Talon and what they did to her for all her life, because she resented their plans and what they wanted to do, but it only brought her pain.

Widowmaker gave up resisting long ago, she had learned her lesson. Not feeling was her best friend. Her protector and the reason her heart still beat, however slowly. It saved her from all sorts of troubles.

And so she came to some twisted sort of peace with this unusual day, knowing her memories and these strange feelings she started having when thinking of that bubbly, yet annoying girl named Tracer, which undeniably would only hurt her again, would be gone again soon. Wiped away in the process of electrochemical cleansing.

A part of her wanted nothing more than to hold on to those precious memories, those tiny fragments of something which felt _right,_ but the majority of her was afraid of getting hurt again, afraid of getting her mind torn down completely another time, only to completely forget who she was one more time. Widowmaker had finally found some kind of self again, whatever it was, and she didn't want to give it up for some strange hunch of something she didn't even fully understand. Tracer was her enemy, one day she'd have to kill her. And on that day, she couldn't allow herself any positive feelings towards the girl. No matter how the Brit made her feel. No, what was to come now was for her own best.

It was better simply accepting what was about to happen anyway, because one thing Widowmaker didn't have in a long time. And that was a choice. Thinking what would be done to you was exactly what you wanted made things easier, it at least felt like a choice.

 _This was the worst day in forever_ She thought, stopping in front of a black metal door deep inside the freighter. Her legs had carried her to the destination she was headed to, but now that she was here, something inside her made Widowmaker hesitate. _Maybe this isn't what I really want? What if I want to remember? I want to hold on to those memories, I want to see her again and talk to her, I want to remember!_ Widowmaker sighed, rubbing over the bridge of her nose, giving herself a push. It was futile, she didn't have a choice, no reason making this more difficult than it already was. Soon enough she would have forgotten her inner turmoil.

Widowmaker pushed the dooropener, waited for the metal plate to slide out of her way, before she stepped inside. Three scientists in dark grey coats where standing in some kind of laboratory. Unlike the rest of the base, this room was clinically white, with polished surfaces and lots of glass everywhere. The stench of disinfectant was lingering heavily in the air, almost stinging in the nose with each breath. The brightly lit laboratory screamed _hospital_ like nothing else. A transparent glass cylinder in the size of your average shower was in the middle of the lab, reaching from the floor to the ceiling. Some steps led up to it and lots of differently sized and formed tubes and cables, all in different shades of white, came out of it, some vanishing in the ceiling, some making their way to different instruments and control-units. A fine fog was bubbling out of the top of the machine, gently falling down on the glass-sides, before vanishing halfway through.

Right next to the creepy tube was a polished metal bed, with four metal manacles to bind a patient, or maybe better a victim, to it so movement would be restricted to the bare minimum. Surgical instruments were neatly prepared on a moveable side table and right above the operation table, fixed to the ceiling, was a six-armed artificial surgeon-AI, which was currently in hibernation, its six skinny metal arms retracted. Widowmaker had seen that _thing_ in action once before, when her body was 'enhanced' by Talon. She didn't want to think back to that day, the procedure done while she was still fully conscious, so the assassin quickly pushed those thoughts aside.

"Ah, Widowmaker" one of the scientists said, noticing the guest in their lab. "We have expected you" he added, gesturing her to come closer.

The assassin merely nodded, handing her gear to the one scientist right next to her. She handed him her Talon-rifle and her mine-shooting glove, before placing her infrared-visor on top of everything.

"You know the drill by now, don't you?" the first scientist asked and indeed did sound rather creepy. Widowmaker didn't even realize his disgustingly perverted undertone, she just didn't care.

"oui" she replied flatly, undoing her shoes before stripping out of her bodysuit without any hesitation or shame, not even trying to cover her naked body. She wasn't wearing anything underneath that skintight suit. With quick and skilled hands she folded the cevlar-latex hybrid material neatly at put it aside on to a little shelf right next to the glass cylinder. Widowmaker didn't pay the lusty stares the scientist gave her now stark naked body any attention. To herself, the body she now possessed was nothing but a weapon, made to fulfill a purpose, not to look beautiful. To herself she wasn't beautiul.

But to everyone else she was so gorgeous, so different. Her cold blue skin with that dark black tattoo of a spider on her back. Her legs were long and slender, yet muscular. Her body had a form any other woman would have killed for, no doubt. Her usual bodysuit left little to the imagination, yet the three scientists were well aware how lucky they were, getting to see the deadly assassin's breathtakingly perfect body completely naked. Yet no one dared to say something. They all knew the story of that one unlucky guy, who had complimented her flawless body during the check-in once. Widowmaker stared at him for a moment, and without saying a word, she broke his neck, killing the man instantly. No one ever dared to say anything to her ever since.

But that didn't meant no one _looked._ They all stared at the movement of her firm and perfectly shaped bottom, while Widowmaker walked up the stars to the glass cylinder, before the chamber opened. For a tiny fraction of a second, she seemed to hesitate, as if that part of her, which wanted to hold on to certain memories seemed to grow more powerful, but then she walked into the glass tube.

The door closed behind her and the machine was switched on. A ring of dark red light appeared sweeping over her body a couple of times, while the scientists were busy working on different consoles. After a minute or two the door opened again and Widowmaker stepped back out, walking back to the little shelf, where she had left her clothes, getting dressed again without any haste.

"The results of the scan are as expected. Your implants are still working at maximal efficiency. We won't need to adjust them today. Also, your metabolism seems to have completely adjusted to the improvements we made, meaning your body-temperature will be a constant 19° Celsius and your heart rate is reduced to about 10 bpm, making you constantly invisible to any kind of sensors or alarm systems." one of the scientists told her proudly. To him, Widowmaker was a walking medical miracle. Enhancements to this extent to the human body were at least ten years ahead of its time. There were only a selected few people who had the knowledge and the resources to do something like that and the scientist was very proud to be part of one of the organizations who did.

"Tell me something I don't know already." Widowmaker rolled her eyes. Each time new personal was working these labs and each time they told her the same story, like it was something awesome. Why did they assume she didn't know what she was built for? It was her own fucking body this had been done to, how the hell could she not know?

"Yes, of course. As I said, your metabolism has adjusted, meaning you can stop taking the medication we provided you with" he explained. "If you keep a close eye on your nourishment-schedule, you should be self-sufficient by now"

" _Enfin_! It was such an annoyance" she replied.

"I can imagine" the scientist said, sounding as if he smiled behind that face mask, before he was momentarily distracted by the door opening and closing again. Someone came in, which made the doctor hesitate, yet Widowmaker didn't bother turning around. After a moment he continued. "So much for your physical condition. Moving on to your psychological maintenance. Doctor?" he gestured towards a different scientist, who cleared his throat walking up to Widowmaker.

"Yes, thank you," he adjusted a pair of huge glasses with one skinny gloved finger "It seems your mental inhibitors are due to be reapplied, at least according to schedule. We should reapply them now" he stated flatly, like he was talking about reinstalling a computer.

Inwardly Widowmaker sighed. This was it. In a few hours she'd have forgotten today. It would have been gone alongside that nagging feeling of something the cold-blooded assassin didn't understand anymore. Yet she couldn't help but wonder, what might happen, if her mind wouldn't be wiped now. If she'd figure out what Tracer did to her to make her feel _alive._ Usually only killing made her feel that way, Talon made sure of that. She suppressed the nagging voice insider her head, telling her to avoid the mental overhaul at all costs, pleading to wait and see what would happen.

"That will not be necessary, Doctor" an unnaturally deep voice behind Widowmaker said. Now she did turn around, looking surprised at the black and white mask of Reaper. "The procedure had already been done while she was on transit from London." he said, lying boldly directly at the face of the scientist. "You need to update your database."

The scientist gulped. "But, Sir!"

"No buts, Doctor. You and I both know what happens when you wipe a mind two times in a row. She is too valuable an asset to lose because of the mistake of an amateur." Reaper growled, casually putting his hand on the handle of one of his shotguns. "And you know how Talon deals with amateurs."

Beads of sweat were forming on the doctor's forehead, which he quickly pat dry with a white napkin "Yes, Sir. I understand."

"Good." Reaper replied with a lowly growl, removing the hand from his shotgun. "See to it that the database gets updated. It was a full program with the second gen mobile unit, so another two to three months should be fine" he ordered, before turning to the golden eyed assassin. "You come with me, Widowmaker. We have new orders."

Widowmaker merely nodded, wondering what the hell this was all about, but following Reaper out of the lab and into the corridor. Her eyes instantly adjusted to the darkness. For quite some time, she just walked right behind him, before curiosity got the better of her.

"Why did you do it?" she wanted to know flatly, not even dwelling on the fact that Reaper had lied for reasons she didn't understand.

"Did What?" Reaper asked back, his deeply rasping voice echoing from the walls.

"I wasn't overhauled en route back to HQ. So why did you tell them I was?"

Reaper chuckled, a deep and truly intimidating chuckle. "Why not? Do you want to be wiped again?" he asked mockingly.

The more Widowmaker thought about it, the more her emotional side was winning. No, she didn't want to be cleaned again. She wanted to find out more about that side of her, it felt like the right path to take. Yet she didn't want to tell Reaper. "Because it's against protocol? Talon does that for a reason"

Reaper stopped and turned around to face the blue assassin. "But I am not Talon, I have my own reasons. You want to be turned a blank paper again? I won't stop you. I offered you one more cycle of being yourself, do you want that?"

Widowmaker hesitated for a moment "oui" she replied.

"Perfect" Reaper replied with a deep growl. "Because I sure as hell didn't do it for you, bitch. I did it for me and for my plans. It just so happens that I need you for them and I also need you rememberering more than two month at a time," he chuckled deeply "and now you owe me."

"What do I owe you exactly, _la Faucheuse_?" Widowmaker inquired, ignoring his insults, as she felt suspicion creeping up insider her mind. What kind of game was Reaper playing here exactly and what role did he have in store for her in all of this? Whatever _this_ was supposed to be anyway. Because one thing was certain, she definitely had a role, or otherwise he'd never have lied for the sake of her not being mind-wiped again. Reaper had made that rather clear.

"I will let you know when the time comes, little spider."

"Does Talon know what you are up to?" Widowmaker asked, she couldn't help but get the feeling that someone would have her head for doing Reaper the favor he demanded.

"Do I look like fucking Talon to you? I said it before, I say it again. I am not them. My goals momentarily align with theirs, which is why I work with them. But that's it. I work _with_ them. Not _for_ them. Got that?"

" _Je vois_ " Widowmaker nodded.

Reaper pressed one of his armored fingers right onto her chest, way too hard to seem friendly. "And if you even think about telling anyone from our little agreement today, I will have you mind not only wiped, but broken again, understand? You won't even remember your precious French anymore, _compris_?"he said, that last word spoken with more disgust than you'd expect from a voice as deep as his.

The assassin gulped, the idea alone making her insides convulse. Being french was the only thing Widowmaker had left from the life she led, when she still wasn't under Talon's control, the only tiny fragment of herself, which she got to keep. The thought of losing it as well felt very much like she expected dying would feel as well. But Widowmaker didn't let her inner turmoil show, her face was as stern and emotionless as usual, while she pushed Reaper's disturbing finger off her with a casual wave of her hand and an annoyed roll of her beautiful golden eyes " _Oui, Oui_ , _la Faucheuse_. I'm not stupid, no need to threaten me. One hand washed the other, right? When you need me, just say the word."she shrugged.

Reaper grunted, as he turned around and lead the way again. Widowmaker followed a moment later. This was getting really strange really fast. Reaper never cared for anything, so what was he up to now? All Widowmaker thought he was interested in was death and destruction, but apparently that was not everything. There seemed to be something bigger behind things and apparently it was worth the risk of involving someone else as well. What did he hide? She was undeniably curious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> la Faucheuse = (French) the Grim Reaper
> 
> Enfin = (French) Finally!
> 
> compris? = (French) savvy?
> 
> Je vois = (French) I understand
> 
> Did I forget something? Don't think so...
> 
>  
> 
> If you want to support the story, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction


	3. Hangovers, Doctors and Coffee

**Watchpoint: Gibraltar, the next day, 0932 hours**

When Tracer opened her eyes, her lids felt heavy, resisting her orders to open and the world which presented itself to her blank mind was one indistinguishable blur. Her tongue was completely dry, stuck to her palate, she had a rotten taste in her mouth and Lena felt an uncomfortable lump in her throat. While some uncomfortable moments of semi-consciousness passed, Lena realized that her head was hurting like it was run over by a car, while the feedback from her stomach concluded it must have been filled with rotten eggs for at least two weeks in a row. Which obviously wasn't the case. As if that wasn't enough already, her limbs felt as if they were made from solid concrete, making movement basically impossible.

Long story short, Lena had the hangover of the century. Trying to at least get her vision to sharpen up a little bit, she blinked a couple of times.

And while the real world was starting to take shape again, in the back of her head the last remaining memories of a really strange dream she just had faded away into oblivion. It was almost like the one couldn't exist while the other was alive, the more the real world filtered down to her mind, the more her dream was forgotten. Lena tried to not let the images in her head go, but it was too late already, the last thing Tracer recalled were cold golden eyes and a welcome, peacefully warm feeling in her chest.

Oxton groaned a rather unladylike groan, as she stretched her sore body in her bed. It was only then that she noticed her hand, which was firmly grasping one of her breasts, while the other one was buried in her lap. Rolling her eyes, she flipped her sheets back to see that her pajama-pants were completely soaked, sticking to her womanhood like it was a wallpaper.

 _Great_ Lena huffed, _so it was one of those dreams, I see._ She really didn't need a lot more to count two and two together than what she saw now, as well as who she remembered dreaming about. This was going too far, now she was having fantasies about Widowmaker. Fantasies, which made her completely wet. Like she didn't have enough trouble already. Maybe emptying the bottle of Scotch yesterday with Morrison wasn't the brightest idea Lena ever had.

Gosh, she felt so disgustingly dirty at the moment, like she spent the last year in the gutter. Annoyed at herself for multiple reasons of stupidity she withdrew her hand from both her breast as well as her soaked nether regions to clumsily and with quite a bit of effort sit up in her bed.

 _That_ had been a mistake. The whole small room she had occupied at the watchpoint started to spin violently at Tracer's sudden movement of sitting up. Damn, she still was completely plastered. And here she was, thinking she couldn't get drunk. Way to go, Tracer, you only get drunk way too late. Time was a bitch.

Oxton rubbed over her face, before she paused. Something didn't feel quite right.

"Oh, fuck me!" Lena groaned, realizing that she just smeared her own juices sticking to her hand right into her face. _Damn it!_ She convulsed her face, coming to terms with the fact that today would be a really shitty day. Quickly stripping out of her wet pajama-pants she wiped her face on one dry leg of the pants, before drying her hands with it and tossing the cloth over a chair in front of her desk right opposite to her bed.

Making her way to the small bathroom, Lena planned what she'd do next. Obviously she'd wash her face, or even better take a shower, before she'd get dressed and would then head out to the infirmary, where she'd hope to procure some hangover-pills from Dr. Ziegler. She really hoped that would help, because right now the only thing which seemed to be able to take care of that hammering pain tormenting her brain was a bullet to the head.

Lena turned on the shower, pulled the loose old air-force t-shirt she used as pajama-top off her body and tossed it to the floor, before stepping into the shower. Letting the steaming hot water patter down onto her tired and unhealthily pale skin seemed to revive Lena's spirits well enough for her brain to come out of its emergency-shutdown.

The completely hung-over Brit wondered why she had wasted a completely good bottle of fine Scotch in the first place. All she wanted to do was stop her thoughts about someone she couldn't have thoughts about, but all it did was give her a horrible headache, a foul taste in her mouth and -oh who would have thought- even more thoughts about said forbidden fruit. Plus a nice wet dream extra on the top.

Just.

Great.

Why exactly was it that the first person Oxton found interesting in literally _years_ just so happened to be the bad guy? It wasn't like that kind of girl was her thing either, so why _her_ of all people?

Lena still had no answer to that question, no idea why the dangerous assassin was stuck in her mind. Well, there were a couple of reasons which Lena acknowledged, but they were rather superficial ones. Still, they were reasons.

For instance, Widowmaker was stupidly beautiful, which was nothing Oxton would -or could- deny. That drop dead gorgeous body squeezed into that ridiculously tight spandex suit left very little to the imagination, yet ignited the wildest fantasies of what may be underneath. Then there was her thick, long deep purple hair which made Tracer want to run her fingers through it all day. She imagined it would feel like dipping her hands into liquid silk.

And of course Widowmaker's eyes. Her cold, piercing golden eyes, which were probably her most striking feature. Lena had never seen eyes like that ever before, they conveyed so many things if you bothered to look past the apparent apathy and made an effort to see how infinite pain, cruel confusion and sheer cold panic laid underneath all that affected indifference. Widowmaker's eyes told a cruel story, one which Oxton tried to figure out.

Lena rubbed over her face, attempting to get rid of these thoughts, but it didn't help one bit. Instead she had nothing better to do than suddenly imagine how Widowmaker's perfectly shaped butt would feel in her hands. The thought alone sent a spark of anticipation down into her groin. _Thank you for that, brain, I really needed that,_ Lena huffed.

Maybe she'd just needed to get laid again. It had been a while, now that she thought about it, even if there had been a lot for meaningless flirts. But they were exactly that: Meaningless. Lena was very, very picky when it came to potential bed-partners, she didn't sleep with just anyone. Unfortunately for her, there weren't an awful lot of people fitting what she imagined. Which was why the last time she got laid was years ago. It was one of her co-pilots back in the day, when she was still a test-pilot. That had been even before the slipstream-project, in what felt a long, long time ago. And the girl _had_ been a fantastic lay, but she simply wasn't a good idea for Tracer. She had been Tracer's _wingman_ , it would have never worked past a few mind-blowing quickies in the changing room. Or in between the two vertical tails of her jet, right there on the taxiway one late evening. Damn, that had been hot, thinking back now. Hot and ridiculously stupid, they could have been busted any second. Oh well, being horny made you do stupid shit. It had been worth it, though. Best fuck of her life so far.

Lena laughed to herself under the calming hot shower, which miraculously made her brain function again. At least Tracer could admit to herself that she would definitely not push Widowmaker out of her bed, if she'd -by some sort of cosmic wonder- suddenly show up there. To put it plainly, Oxton was well aware of her own particular sexual preferences. Which was great, because Lena could definitely live without having to rack her brain over the question _why_ she found another woman desirable and if she could _possibly_ , _maybe_ , _eventually_ be interested in other women?

Luckily for her, Lena didn't have to wonder about that particular problem anymore, she had an answer to that question at the time she was 12 years old. She had accepted that specific side of herself ever since, it's simply a part of who Lena Oxton was and she made no big secret about it either. There were no _maybes_ with Tracer concerning other women.

The bubbly Brit was so incredibly fucking _gay,_ it would have been enough for an entire girl's boarding school. So there was that.

Giving the faucet a push, Lena reached for a fresh towel and started to rub her now hot skin dry before she stepped out of the shower. Wrapping the white cotton towel around her slender body she started brushing her teeth to get rid of that foul taste in her mouth. While she was absent minded scrubbing the brush back and forth, she was yet again catching herself thinking about Widowmaker.

Dammit, that woman would be the death of her, one way or the other. Either because she'd distract Tracer in all the wrong moments, causing her to blink face first into a driving car or because she'd be her literal death, the one shooting her. Either way, by the time Oxton had rinsed her mouth, put on some casual clothes and walked out of her barrack room, she came to terms with the obsession she had with Widowmaker. She realized that trying to forget about her simply wouldn't work and decided that she'd do some research on who that mysterious killer really was. Winston surely could help her with that. If she couldn't forget her, she needed to confront her, no matter how bad an idea that seemed to be. That meant she would try and talk to Widowmaker the next time they would run into each other on the battlefield. Lena was aware that this particular endeavor would most likely be the cause of some severe bruises, but it needed to be done for the sake of her peace of mind.

But first, Tracer would go and see Dr. Ziegler, because that headache she had still felt like Reinhardt slammed his crusader-hammer straight into her face. Twice. At least Lena imagined it would feel similar, not that she actually knew how that'd feel. Maybe that was the cause of her stupid ideas today, who knew? Maybe she'd reconsider everything once her brain didn't feel like someone detonated a nuke inside her skull.

Making her way through a bright, sun-flooded hallway, Lena headed straight for the infirmary. The right side of the corridor was completely made from glass, giving a breathtaking view over the strait leading into the mediterranean sea, the warm orange morning sun shimmered in the blue ocean, making the waves sparkle like fairy-dust. It was a quiet, peaceful day, the only noise were Tracer's steps on the light grey concrete floor.

From where she was now, it wasn't far to the infirmary anymore. Just a few turns and some stairs and she was there. The white metal bulkheads serving as doors everywhere inside Watchpoint Gibraltar slid out of Lena's way once she approached them. Without hesitation Tracer stepped inside the kingdom of her best friend, which was more commonly known as the infirmary under the supervision of Dr. Ziegler.

The beautiful doctor was currently sitting behind her white marble desk, her thick blonde mane hanging down in front of her face. She tried to hold the flood of hair upwards with one hand so she could see, while the other one scribbled something down on a piece of paper with an expensive looking black pen. Some fashionable black framed reading glasses were sitting on her nose. Dr. Angela Ziegler, most people knew her better as Mercy, was wearing a simple white blouse and a knee length skirt with black tights and subdued heels. She had one of her long legs elegantly crossed over the other, her foot swinging to the beat of some internal melody.

Over her informal clothes, she was wearing the typical doctor's white coat with some more pens stuck into the breast-pocket, just like you'd imagine a doctor. The only thing missing from the doctor-cliché was a stethoscope hanging around her neck. She obviously had one, made from gold, sitting in a small showcase behind her desk among other memorabilia. Tracer had gotten the fine piece of antique medical equipment for Angela on her birthday the first year Mercy had joined Overwatch. In a time where modern technology rendered these ancient instruments abundant, it was still her favorite piece.

Mercy's desk was placed almost directly in front of the door, left and right of it were a row of three sickbeds, all of which currently empty. There wasn't a lot to do since Overwatch had officially been shut down.

Just like the corridor, the infirmary had one wall, the left one to be precise, made entirely from semipermeable glass, allowing a wonderful view over the ocean, while showing the outside nothing but a golden mirror.

"I wondered when you'd show up, Lena" Mercy said dryly, looking up from her paperwork, while setting her glasses aside. She looked at Tracer, who was all pale, her hair was a complete mess (even worse than usual) and she had dark circles around her tired eyes. The pair of old jeans and the shirt which she wore inside out didn't do much to help her appearance.

"Uh?" Tracer was slightly taken aback. "What you mean, luv?"

Mercy smiled at her, opening a drawer in her desk, retrieving an orange tube with a white cap. " _Süße_ , you look like shit. No offense" Dr. Ziegler said warmly, gesturing her friend to come closer.

"Yeah, luv, I know, thank you for reminding me" Oxton replied with a sigh, wiping that one bunch of hair constantly hanging into her face out of the way, as she walked up to Mercy's desk. In that light, how the orange of the sun plaid with that warm gold of her hair, Mercy indeed did look like an angel, Lena thought, as she caught herself staring at the doctor, who just happened to be her best friend.

"Your shirt is inside out" Mercy stated, causing Lena to look down on her body only to notice that, yes, indeed her shirt was the wrong way. She blushed heavily, uttering a quick thanks before cheekily taking her shirt off to turn it around. Angela inhaled sharply, Lena _had_ a desirable body, so much was sure. Mercy had to look at a lot more unpleasant things in her career than Tracer's perfectly shaped upper body, but the doctor still wished her best friend would at least know a _little_ sense of shame. Tracer was the only woman she knew who'd just blatantly take off her shirt in front of someone, while not wearing anything underneath other than her time-harness. Which didn't cover jack shit.

Somehow Mercy suspected Lena sometimes did things like that on purpose, only to mess with her, being like _see, that's what you are missing out on, luv!_ That would have been one hundred percent Lena Oxton.

"Is it true you drank almost an entire bottle of Whiskey yesterday?" Angela asked, standing up from her hyper modern white executive chair, the backrest seemed to adapt to the form of the spine.

"How did you know, luv?" Lena wanted to know, admittedly rather confused.

Mercy merely giggled, tossing Lena the small orange tube, filled with tiny white pills, which she had picked up from the drawer of her desk. "Your liver called, asking for a replacement. You want me to take you liver function reading? If there is still a function left I can read."

"Very funny, Angela. Very funny" Tracer rolled her eyes with a bemused smile on her lips, catching the orange tube with surprising ease. "No seriously, how did you know?"

"Morrison was here about an hour ago." Overwatch's doctor explained, shaking her head, while she walked around her desk. The Soldier had been a walking corpse this morning "He was so hung over, doing as much as walking straight was difficult for him. He told me he had been drinking with you and he also told me that you can't be human to survive so much booze. I figured you'd show up sooner or later"

Lena shook her head in amusement, opening the tube Mercy gave her and tossing two pills in her mouth "If I knew he couldn't stomach it, I wouldn't have invited him to drink with me. For such a big guy he is quite the wuss" she laughed.

"You are the one who stomachs that stuff far too well." Mercy countered, leaning to the front of her desk, while looking at Tracer. She wondered what made her best friend drink in the first place, she usually didn't do that unless something _major_ was bothering her. The last time was when Overwatch was dissolved and Tracer had lost all sense of purpose in her life yet again. Though Angela doubted Tracer even realized she did that. As long as it wasn't a frequent occurrence, there were no objections from a medical point of view either.

"You can blame my father for that" Tracer laughed, walking over to Mercy and leaning to her desk right beside her, crossing her arms over her chest. A long, but comfortable silence spread between the two women, in which Tracer let her head glide down to Mercy's shoulder, where she let it rest. Her unruly hair was tickling Angela's neck, but she ignored it.

"Drinking with Morrison doesn't quite look like you, _oder?_ " Angela asked after a while, in which she mustered Lena thoroughly. Something was bothering her friend, she could tell.

"What, because I'm gay?" Tracer giggled, causing the blonde doctor to roll her eyes.

"Not what I meant, _Süße._ Why had you been drinking?" she wanted to know.

Lena inhaled sharply, somehow she hoped she could avoid that particular topic. But who was she kidding here, she was talking to her best friend. Of course Mercy would ask that. Also if she couldn't tell Angela at least the most basic aspect of her problem, she couldn't tell anyone.

Though she would have to _very_ carefully choose her words, Lena couldn't just blurt out that she had very sexual fantasies involving a certain Talon-assassin. That she couldn't even tell her best friend. Well, _technically_ she could, but it would be utterly retarded never the less.

Widowmaker was marked as shoot on sight. Not only did Tracer want to avoid the gigantic lecture Angela would undoubtedly give her, she also wanted to avoid any complications for her friend. There were rules after all, and Mercy usually complied with rules. If Tracer told her now, that Widowmaker was the woman causing her sleepless nights, Mercy would be compelled to mention it in a report. Now, Tracer knew that her best friend probably wouldn't do something like that, simply to keep Lena out of trouble, but Mercy definitely wouldn't like it one bit. She would get worked up over the whole matter, would try to talk Lena out of it and would probably blab in front of the wrong person, probably Winston, sooner than later. The problems this would cause for both Mercy and Tracer weren't worth the revelation of her secret crush. _A crush, am I that far already? Well, there isn't really a point denying it, is there?_

"I tried to forget someone" Lena replied, deciding to avoid names and hints, which could lead to an identity.

" _Oh Gott,_ " Mercy said in good spirits "Who is she?" she asked curiously.

"Not you, unfortunately" Tracer replied teasingly, not taking her head off Mercy's shoulder. She loved pushing that particular button on her best friend.

" _Süße,_ you know I'm-"

"Not into girls, don't worry, luv, I'm well aware," Tracer giggled. But if Mercy would have been playing in the same team, oh damn Lena would have done anything to get the gorgeous blonde into bed. Preferably in the one in Lena's London apartment, and even more preferably _naked._

"You know what, let's get breakfast. _Kaffee_ is on me. And while you sip on the caffeine I pay for, you tell me everything about that girl and what she did to get you so worked up. I want to know _everything_. Sounds good, _ja_?" Mercy suggested.

"I have to disappoint you, luv, there isn't a lot I can tell you"

Angela laughed happily " _Oh nein,_ I won't let you off the hook that easily. There has to be something, which sparked your interest. Spill it! Doctors orders!" she laughed, ruffling playfully through Lena's hair on her shoulder.

Tracer huffed, giving up. "Well, she is breathtakingly beautiful, moves like from a different planet, so graceful and elegant like nothing I ever saw before and she has a fascinating mystery shrouding her. But I don't even know her real name" Lena replied flatly, letting out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. It sounded really stupid now that she said it aloud.

" _Ohh Süße_ , that sounds like from a novel!" Mercy squealed excited. "C'mon let's go!" she said, getting up while pulling Tracer along with her. "You can start by telling me where you met your mysterious new crush!" she demanded, while she dragged Lena out of the infirmary.

Tracer almost instinctively replied with _London,_ but she stopped her hasty mouth in the last second. That would have been a too big hint for Mercy not to miss, basically on the same level with telling her skin-color was blue. Who could she possibly have met in _London,_ which worked her up so badly that she needed to drown her thoughts in Scotch? And that right after the day she returned from exactly that city, other than maybe the one woman, who showed up in Tracer's report everywhere? Talk about broad hints. "Back at home" Lena replied instead.

"Is it something serious?" Mercy asked innocently. She obviously had no idea who she was just discussing, but that didn't stop her from drilling holes into her best friend.

"I haven't even talked to her yet" Lena replied sheepishly, causing Angela to laugh loudly.

"Oh my, she must have been something very special if you didn't have the guts to talk to her. Otherwise you hit on anything with tits and legs." she laughed again. "And here I am thinking your appreciation of her agility originated in the sheets"

Tracer turned as red as a tomato. Yes, she was a flirt, that she couldn't deny, but in all seriousness, she was very careful when it came to selecting girls she'd share a bed with. Mercy knew that full well. So why was she constantly teasing her about it?

"No, I just saw her-" ... _fight..._ "- dance"

"Oh, you met her at a party then?" Mercy asked.

"something..." Lena hesitated. _A party_ , that's what Widowmaker had called their last encounter as well. _Gaahh, why is everything reminding me of her?_ Tracer felt like pulling her hair out "...like that, yes."

" _Oh Gott_ , I haven't seen you like that ever before" Dr. Ziegler said happily walking up to the front door of the cafeteria. The white metal wall slid out of the way and the blonde angel of healing let her gaze glide over the rather crowded cafeteria. After a moment she spotted an empty table near the window which seemed like a pretty nice place.

While Overwatch was still officially disabled, Winston employed everyone as members of a scientific research team, who indeed did do completely legal, authorized scientific work at this place. The agents of Overwatch hid among the legitimate employees. "You should definitely talk to her!" Angela said to Lena as the two of them sat down on the empty table.

It didn't take a moment before a waitress was at their side "Ah, _Frau Doktor,_ good to see you again" the woman of middle age, who wasn't straight forward fat, but definitely had a few pounds too much on her hips said friendly "What can I get for you?" she wanted to know.

"Two large coffees, please. One black, one with extra milk and sugar" The black one was for herself, she needed her caffeine as pure and unfiltered as possible, so it still had an effect, the one with milk and sugar was for Lena, who just had a sweet tooth.

"Coming right up!" the waitress exclaimed happily, before she vanished as fast as she appeared.

"As I said, you should talk to her, _Süße_. Otherwise you'll brood over it forever"

Lena shook her head, relieved that her headache was starting to slowly fade away. "Yeah, I know, luv, no reason to tell me. It was on my list for the next time I see her."

Mercy smirked at her, her deep blue eyes betraying her no good intentions "And maybe you should do that sober and properly dressed. It works miracles, you know?" she teased.

"Yeah, yeah, I look like shit, I get it, luv. There's no need to remind me, innit?" she replied with a suppressed giggle. Mercy always cheered her up, no matter what.

"Aww, you so cute when you are like that" Angela teased.

"Don't play with my feelings like that, that's just cruel" Lena pouted, causing a bright smile on Angela's lips. She was dead curious who that nameless girl was. Because one thing was sure, she had to be quite amazing to make the great Tracer _drink_ to forget her. Mercy imagined it normally was just the other way round.

Her best friend was a dangerous predator, a weapon built to seduce other women. A ladykiller, if ever there was one. Normally Lena knew that and usually used this particular set of skills a lot, even if it was just to stay in shape for those she considered worthy. Not that there were a lot of people she'd consider worthy, Mercy was well aware of that. Be that as it may, going out with Lena Oxton always was an adventure, even if it was only for all the heads she turned. An amusing show to watch, with the positive side-effect of all the male interested parties being directly referred to Angela. She didn't even have to work for it, not that Mercy normally had trouble with that sort of thing. She was beautiful and interesting enough, so much was certain.

But seriously, who was it, who made _Tracer_ insecure? The bubbly Brit had so much self confidence, sometimes it was hard for even Mercy to resist her advances and she wasn't into girls in the first place.

Angela suspected it had to be Tracer's natural good looks for the most part, together with her super-fit, attractive body and her kind personality, which was enough to leave any remotely girl-interested woman chanceless. And if that wasn't enough, Lena's irresistible British charm and dialect was what finished them off.

Mercy didn't even want to know how many women Lena had turned full lesbian in the matter of two sentences, only to leave them standing where she found them.

In that aspect, her best friend was brutally cruel.

Yet not once did Tracer meet someone she wouldn't openly approach. At least not that Angela knew of such a person up until now. So who was that other nameless woman? Curiosity didn't even begin to describe what Angela felt, as she saw her best friend squirm in front of her eyes. In a very twisted way, this was hilarious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> Süße = (German) honey
> 
> As I said before, Angela starts out straight. Pharmercy will still happen, just later on.
> 
>  
> 
> If you want to support the story, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction


	4. The Pink Pitcher

**London suburbs, the 'Pink Pitcher Pub', four days later, 2315 hours.**

Yet again Lena found herself staring at brown liquid, swinging back and forth softly with the gentle move of her hands. She wasted a quick thought about her recent drinking behavior, but reasoned that today was different from last time. When Lena had taken a small vacation from her duties at Overwatch to spend some time at home again, she hoped it would maybe help her figure something out concerning her dangerous affection towards a certain Talon assassin. She certainly didn't expect to end up in her favorite pub, leaning against the bar.

Everything had started so great. Tracer had talked to Winston the day she left from Gibraltar, asking him if they had any files on the hitman responsible for the assassination at King's Row. Winston, being who he is, didn't take long to find the answer: They, of course, had plenty of data. So much in fact that Winston needed some time to put everything together for Lena. The smart gorilla told his most trusted agent he'd send her an encrypted file to her private terminal. Much to Lena's delight, he didn't get suspicious, nor did he ask any dangerous questions. She supposed Winston was thinking she may be reading up on the opponent who kept slipping through her fingers. Usually Oxton was very meticulous when it came to her duties, so Winston didn't think anything of it.

It took him two days to compile all the data they had on Widowmaker and send it to Lena via secure channels.

Eagerly awaiting the files, Lena darted for the material. Oxton had been reading these past few days and hadn't even begun to scratch the surface of what Overwatch knew of Widowmaker.

 _Widowmaker_. It obviously wasn't her real name.

Amélie Lacroix was how the gorgeous assassin used to be called, back when she was still _normal_. Back in a time, when Talon hadn't gotten the French woman in her claws yet.

At least Lena now had a real name, something she could call her, not just a hollow, meaningless call sign.

 _Amélie._ Such a beautiful name.

Apart from the woman itself, her name, unfortunately, was the only beautiful thing Lena found in Amélie's file. What those _monsters_ -there was no other way to call them- at Talon did to that poor woman was causing Tracer to doubt that there ever was any good in humanity.

Amélie used to be married to a guy named Gérard Lacroix, one of the founding members of Overwatch. He was the most successful agent, completely focused on hunting down every single last agent of Talon. He fought fervently to bring the organization down.

Obviously he was a huge thorn in Talon's side. They tried to kill him multiple times on just as many different occasions and with even more varied methods. But they never succeeded. He was just too good for them. Too careful, too foreseeing, and also too well equipped. Overwatch was still active and running at the time.

Nonetheless, Talon was determined to see him dead. One day, someone apparently came up with the bright idea that it was far easier to focus their attention on Gérard's innocent wife instead of the man himself. Being the cowards they are, Talon waited until Gérard was out of town for a mission, before they charged his home with their soldiers, violently abducting his unsuspecting wife from right out of their living room. She had been enjoying a book her husband bought her, waiting for him to come back home. Her life turned from peace and quiet to living hell in an instant.

Once Talon had Amélie, they didn't use her as leverage, like any 'normal' terror organization would have done. That would have been too easy now, wouldn't it? Those sick bastards had nothing better to do other than completely break poor Amélie's mind into a thousand shards. Tracer skipped the details of the report at words like _neuro-surgical chemical reconstruction, controlled physical exertion of influence_ and _enforced negative behavior electric reconditioning._

Fancy words for cruel practices like drugs, brutal beatings and torture.

Amélie was a simple woman, a loving housewife, and a caring friend. She surely was no special operations agent like her husband had been. She hadn't been trained in advanced counter-interrogation techniques, or even basic ones for that matter, nor was she taught how to shield her mind against involuntary invasion.

Withstanding what Talon did to her was impossible. Amélie had lost that game before it had even begun. Hell, she was just a normal girl, enjoying a normal life with the man she loved, just like it should have been. Chances were she didn't even know what her husband really did for a living.

Naturally, her mind broke in a matter of hours. Talon purposely tore it down with brute force to create a new, blank piece of paper where they could write whatever they wanted. After some intense brainwashing, Talon turned Amélie into a sleeper. By that time, she already was hardly more than an empty hull devoid of anything which might have been reminiscent of a soul. Her whole personality was a mere facade, a play, and nothing more. The true Amélie was already gone, fragmented into a thousand pieces and lost in the darkest corners of her mind.

Talon later let information leak to Overwatch concerning Amélie's location. Obviously her husband came charging in with the heavy cavalry, busting her out in one swift strike.

That had been a terrible mistake for him. The work Talon did on Amélie's brain was well hidden. Her physical and psychological examination showed no conspicuous results. Apart from some bruises thanks to the beatings, Amélie seemed to be in perfect health. She was cleared to return to her normal life after a couple of weeks in the infirmary.

The first few days back at home had been completely normal; Amélie was just the way she used to be before her violent abduction. She did her share of the housework, prepared dinner when Gérard returned home late from work, and laughed with her husband, just like any other wife would.

But one night a few more days later, her secret programming was triggered by an unknown stimulus. She woke up from her conjugal bed, stood up, went into the kitchen like a trained dog, grabbed a knife, and then returned to the bedroom. She didn't even hesitate as she sliced her husband's throat in his sleep. After she met the requirements of her programming, Amélie returned to Talon, just like she was instructed to do.

Her whole personality was reconstructed from that point onward. Not only that…

Lena almost stopped reading at that point, the things she had read made her not only sick, but they made her _furious_. Had Oxton known what else was hidden deep inside the files, she might really have called it a day. Yet she didn't. Her natural curiosity be damned.

There also were some videos in the data-package Winston had sent her, material the master ninja Genji managed to procure on a secret spy mission at Talon HQ. He lifted a ridiculous amount of information on that mission all without Talon ever noticing. It was completely unfiltered and absolutely random, yet _highly_ useful for the most part. Among the stuff he pinched were the video logs of what happened to Amélie both before and after she had returned to Talon.

The first one Tracer opened randomly showed one of the first brainwashing sessions, which in itself was hard to stomach. The initial frame alone was enough for Tracer to feel the urge to close the video file again, but she forced herself to continue. It showed Amélie completely naked, tied to a cold and worn down metal chair inside a dark room. Rusty metal walls gave the impression of an abandoned dockyard, and the water dripping down from the ceiling onto the dirty floor created an annoying sound in the ears.

Amélie`s eyes were wide open in sheer terror as she tried to comprehend her situation. The color of her skin had been completely normal back then, apart from the black eye on her left and a heavily bruised arm. She gave the impression that she'd fall from the simple rusty chair any second if she wasn't held in place by tightly bound leather straps. Just like a mad cow, merely watching this felt disgusting on a level Lena didn't even know existed. The video showed Amélie breathing heavily while a fine line of dark red blood was slowly running down her neck and over her bare chest. Dozens of cables were stuck inside her head, and a tube of some strange bubbly green liquid was hooked up to the vein on her neck.

 _"Who are you?"_ An interrogator in black uniform asked, absolutely cold and without any emotion, his voice loud and commanding.

Amélie was obviously both having difficulty to breath as well as coming up with an answer. _"Amélie Lacroix"_ she replied with a trembling voice, lacking a better reply. She had no idea how long she had been sitting in that chair, or what the correct answer was supposed to be. Her name obviously wasn't the right one. Like all those innumerable times before, a high current rushed through her, making her tortured body twitch and jerk, while she screamed at the top of her lungs. The interrogator had a disgusting smile on his face. Apparently he found quite some enjoyment in doing that to a completely innocent girl.

 _"There is no Amélie Lacroix. She doesn't exist."_ He slammed his fist hard into her stomach, causing Amélie to cough up blood _"Who are you?"_ the interrogator asked again.

 _"W-What do you want to... hear?"_ she tried in pain and scared out of her mind, before yet another high current made her scream in agonizing pain.

 _"Straight answers, you useless piece of shit!"_ he hissed, slapping her hard straight across the face with the back of his hand. He did have quite a few rings on his fingers.

Tracer had made it exactly two minutes into the four hour video before she had to switch it off. What she saw was too much for her to stomach. Ignoring the nasty taste in her mouth and the disquieting feeling in her stomach, Lena Bravely tried one more file. Unsurprisingly that one wasn't a lot better either. Quite the contrary.

The second video showed the recording of the first surgical intervention with the intention of altering Amélie's body.

The poor woman was tied to a metal plate, her face down to the hard surface, while six thin robotic arms cut her back open. The device reminded Lena of a creepy mechanical spider hanging from the ceiling with surgical instruments at the end of each leg.

Apparently no one bothered sedating Amélie, because she screamed a heartbreaking cry for help and tried to jerk out of the way, but was firmly held in place by her manacles. Lena had to watch as two cold robotic arms cut down Amélie's spine before violently tearing the flesh apart. Her whole vertebrae was completely exposed in the process, while the other four arms started cutting at different places on her body, placing horrible looking implants into her spinal cord…among other places. Amélie started blabbering incoherent words in between her screams as the first implant was brutally _screwed_ in place at the base of her head before the poor girl finally fainted.

By the time Lena reached that point in the video, she was pale as ash. There was a moment where she actually thought she might be able to keep the content of her stomach inside herself. But then Amélie was lifted off the operation table by more mechanical arms. She was repositioned, her limp body like a dead pig in an automated slaughterhouse. Lena couldn't hold it any longer. She jerked off her chair, grabbed the paper-bin under the desk, and violently puked her entire breakfast into the bucket. Feeling like hurling her guts out, she coughed uncontrollably until tears were flowing down her cheeks from the lack of oxygen.

How completely _sick_ can you really be? How are there humans on this planet who want to do what they did to Amélie?! Why did scientists and doctors exist who were so keen on their research that they completely forgot what they were doing to those subjected to their ideas!? How in the name of the seven hells could anyone look at that video and legitimately think: _that was a good idea, we definitely should continue doing stuff like this to that innocent girl, it seems to be exactly what's right for her._

What the fuck!? How... and.. why?!

Lena was short of breath. She couldn't stand watching that testimony of human madness for another second. She needed to get outside. Her apartment was feeling like it could suffocate her any second.

So she hastily shut her terminal off, grabbed a jacket and headed for the pub, just to socialize a little bit.

No. That was a lie.

Just to buy a drink and wash that disgusting taste out of her mouth as well as wipe away some _very_ bad memories. Maybe it would work today.

Also, it did seem rather appealing to be among people who most likely _wouldn't_ come up with the idea of cutting an innocent woman open and stuffing a plethora of experimental tech inside her body with the desire of turning her into a walking weapon-platform.

Tracer needed to be among rudimentary normal people now, so she hurried down the road and toward the 'Pink Pitcher Pub', starting to feel more and more alive the closer she got to her destination. She pushed the old wooden front door out of her way and headed straight for the bar.

The pub was ancient, and it showed in the interior. Dark woods were predominant, and the light was warm but not really all too powerful, however cliché that might have been. The 'Pink Pitcher Pub' was your typical English pub, just like from the movies. Loud and rough, but with a lot of charm. The public room wasn't overly large, but not downright tiny either. Just big enough to feel comfortable and familiar while maintaining privacy.

Tracer loved this pub, and not for the fact that it was a gay-bar. Sure, that was a bonus, since she wouldn't have to explain to every guy hitting on her that she wasn't into males at all. Having to do that usually was a huge pain in her butt, some guys were just unwilling to even try and understand. It was a lot easier when Angela was with her. Lena could then just point at her blonde friend and tell the guys that the Swiss woman wasn't into girls and that they might want to try their luck with her instead. It usually worked.

But Angela wasn't here today, so the 'Pink Pitcher Pub' was Lena's first and only choice. It also was very close to her apartment, making the drunk walk of shame back home not overly unbearable; not that Lena had to do something like that too often.

Lena let her body slide on one of the dark wooden bar stools as she knocked on the counter two times like it was a door of sorts. As intended the barkeeper acknowledged Oxton's presence immediately.

"Dirk, luv! Good evening," Lena said, forcing a smile on her lips. She wasn't yet in a legitimately good mood. She however came to this place to fix that issue, after all. Behind the counter Dirk, the 6' 88" Senegalese bar owner, had been watching Lena approaching him from the moment she entered his trusty tavern.

"Evening, Lena." Dirk murmured as a grumpy reply. The owner of the 'Pink Pitcher Pub' was an interesting person. He fled his homeland when he was four years old with his parents during the Iislamist crisis in the middle east, before he came to Austria. His parents died shortly after from sickness, and Dirk was adopted into an Austrian family. Hence his name. He stayed there with his new family for many long years, until the breakdown of the European Union. His adoptive parents soon also long dead and having saved quite a bit of money, Dirk decided to open a pub in good old Great Britain. The old man had quite some stories to tell, but the funniest of them all was, how he decided to open a gay -bar in London. Why was that funny? Well, Dirk wasn't gay in the slightest.

"You look like-" he started, but was cut off by Lena.

"Luv, if you dare to tell me I look like shit now, I'll do unspeakable things to you." she said with a one sided smirk on her lips. Simply being in the pub made her feel better already. An old rock song was playing in the background, and everything around Lena made her almost forget the pictures she had seen on her terminal just before. She'd never be able to look at Widowm- Amélie in the same way as before. Lena wasn't even sure if she'd have the heart to fight the woman again or if she'd instead go for a long hug. The thought of Amélie's possible reaction to such a bold action brought a bemused, fond smile on Tracer's lips.

"I wanted to say you look dazzling. What do you think of me?" Dirk replied, shaking his head. "What can I get you?"

Lena gestured the approximate size of a glass.

"It's served in a tumbler of approximately _this_ size and contains brown liquid." she said flatly. Since neither beer nor wine were particularly her thing, and she had way too much self esteem for colorful cocktails, there really was only one choice for Tracer.

"Scotch?" Dirk stated more than he asked.

"On the rocks. And don't give me that cheap shit again, luv. Do me the favor." Lena said, blinking cutely at Dirk who just sighed.

"Coming right up." he replied. Lena was a good customer and a dear friend, so of course she'd get the good stuff.

It didn't take long, before a glass of Scotch appeared in front of Lena's eyes.

"Thanks luv." She smiled. "Put it on my tab, would you?"

"Already done." Dirk stated naturally, scratching his bald head, before adjusting his glasses. "Rough time at work again?" he asked.

"You have no idea." Lena huffed, resting her head on her hand while lazily moving the Whiskey in a circle on the counter.

"Want me to leave you alone for a bit?" Dirk asked.

"If you don't mind, luv. I need to sort some things out." Lena gave him a thankful smile, and the barkeep just nodded to before going to serve some other customers.

Just as promised, Lena was left alone, staring into her whiskey, like it miraculously contained all the answers her soul yearned for at the moment.

What the hell was she going to do? She already had that strange attraction towards Widowmaker when she still thought the assassin was evil, but now? Now her whole perspective had changed. Lena didn't only feel attraction, but almost an overwhelming urge to be at the golden eyed woman's side. Amélie committed none of Widowmaker's atrocities on her free will. The woman never wanted to become who she was now. She hadn't asked to become Talon's slave-assassin. She was forced to do all of this by a merciless, cruel organization, which didn't back off from _reprogramming_ a living human girl to their specifications. Widowmaker had been the victim from day one, and no one bothered to do something about it.

Knowing this now, how was Lena supposed to legitimately face her in combat? Oxton couldn't fight Amélie with that knowledge, even if she wanted to. Widowmaker needed help and nothing else. She needed someone to bust her out of Talon's claws and offer her a normal life as well as, the chance to recover from what was done to her.

That realization didn't help Lena one bit. If anything, it increased her sympathy for the blue-skinned woman even more and far beyond simple curiosity. Should she ever have had any doubts about her drive to talk to Widowmaker, they were now gone for good. Tracer had to do something; not only for herself, but even more so for Amélie. Lena now had both reason as well as motivation to get involved, however stupid the idea might have seemed at first glance.

But how was Tracer supposed to approach the assassin? How should she let her rival know that Lena only wanted to help her and, that she didn't mean her harm? Surely holding a gun to her face wasn't the way to properly convey such a message, but unfortunately, it was just the way all of their encounters had looked like in the past.

Maybe ignore her backstory at first? Maybe just talk to her like Lena wanted to anyway? But that wasn't helpful, because Lena didn't have the first idea on how she'd do that either.

 _Back to square one_ , Lena sipped on her whiskey, the alcohol's warmth spreading nicely into her restless body.

How do you get someone who thinks you'd kill her, and who tries to kill you herself, to talk instead of shoot you?... Preferably peacefully?

Lena had no idea, and unfortunately, neither had her whiskey. Thus, she chugged the rest of the useless liquid down, angry at it for not talking to her. There had to be _some_ way. For crying out loud, Lena was good with girls! It shouldn't have been that difficult to get Widowmaker to talk, dammit!

Maybe it wasn't all that difficult after all.? Maybe it was all just in Lena's head, because for the first time in forever someone actually seemed important enough for Tracer to actually try. Somehow this sudden thought felt strangely scary, but at the same time, it gave her hope. Maybe it was best to just run on autopilot? Not over thinking things and just doing them? Maybe Tracer's intention was a lot easier than she made it seem like to herself.?

 _Grit your teeth and get to it_! Lena thought to herself. She could do this. There was a way; that she was certain of. And she would eventually find it.

"Uuhmm... excuse me?" a shy and silent voice asked from Lena's left. At first the Overwatch agent didn't realize someone was talking to her, until the voice continued. "Hello?"

Lena looked up from the now empty glass of whiskey to see a short, really skinny woman standing right next to her. She had long, fire red hair and lots of freckles, almost like Tracer herself. Deep green eyes sparkled from nervousness, and the shy smile on her lips was cute as hell.

"Sorry, luv." Lena replied with a giggle "I didn't realize you were talking to me." She said with an apologetic shrug.

The woman's face was lighting up like the sun in the morning. "No problem at all!" she exclaimed cheerfully, but still nervously played with her fingers.

"What can I do for you?" Lena asked with a warm smile on her lips. Somehow, sometime, somewhere during her musing about Widowmaker, she managed to forget something crucial.

Namely her current location.

Tracer was sitting in a _gay-bar._

All by herself.

The obvious thought of what the redhead could _possibly_ want from her, an attractive woman, sitting at the bar drinking with herself didn't even cross Lena's mind. This particular lack of attention might have been the fault of a certain French woman.

"I... uhhm, I kind of noticed you sitting here all alone and you... uuhm you seemed a little sad so I... I, uuhh I thought maybe you'd want some company and maybe-" She flutteringly cleared her throat "-maybe another whiskey? It'd be on me, I mean, if... if you want." The girl pressed out silently, her voice trembling with nervousness while her big green eyes were looking back and forth between Lena's face and her own shaky hands.

A moment passed, in which Lena Oxton seemed to be confused, before her eyebrows perked up for a moment as she understood what was going on.

The rattling of the penny dropping inside of Tracer's head was surely loud enough to hear it outside as well. She resisted the urge to face palm because of her own stupidity. Of course; how could Tracer miss that? A wide smile slowly spread over Lena's lips as she giggled adorably.

"Aww, you are a cute one, luv." She said, her words turning the poor girl's face almost as red as her hair. "I know it takes a lot of courage to walk up to a stranger and talk to her. You don't need to be so nervous!" Lena laughed heartily, catching the girls trembling fingers and clasping them with her hands.

Dirk walked by the two behind his counter, throwing a look in their direction.

"Careful Lena, she is going to faint soon." He mumbled, before walking off again with something he apparently needed to fetch.

Shaking her head Tracer continued "Ignore the old man." She said still smiling. "Tell me luv, what made you mack on me? There's a reason, innit?"

"You are so beautiful!" the redhead blurted out without any hesitation, before she seemed to realize what she just said, turning even redder. Realistically doing that should have been impossible, but apparently it really wasn't. The embarrassed reaction caused Lena yet again to laugh happily. This really was a cute one.

"Am I?" She asked teasingly and with a cheerful smile on her lips. "What's your name, luv?" Lena wanted to know.

"Rebecca. But everyone calls me Revy." The redhead replied, her cheeks so red and hot, you literally could have made bacon and eggs on them. She couldn't believe that she was actually doing this, talking to this beautiful woman! Never before was she able to work up the courage to do something like this! Maybe the barkeep was right, maybe she'd really faint soon. But Revy didn't care. She promised herself that tonight would be the night, when she'd finally build up all her courage and _do it._ That is, approach another woman and flirt with her. Since Revy was already at it, she decided to go all out and simply talk to the most beautiful, interesting woman in the bar... Not that there was anything simple to it for the redhead.

"Alright, Revy." Lena said warmly. "Look around you, ok? See how many girls are alone in this bar?" she asked. There, indeed, were quite a few women apparently alone, enjoying a beer or some wine.

"Y-yeah. Sure."

"Why did you choose me and not-" Lena searched for someone with some similarity to herself and luckily managed to find a brown haired woman, maybe a little older than Tracer, sitting by herself next to the window. "-her?" Lena guided Revy's attention toward the other nameless woman, who was enjoying a glass of red wine and a book.

"I... uhm... I don't know. I just kind of noticed you?" Revy said apparently very confused. She added "And she's reading" like an afterthought.

Lena tilted her head slightly to the left. Some part of her felt sorry for turning Revy down, simply because Tracer could tell how very new the redhead was to all of this. But it would have been completely unfair to get the girls hopes up. "Tell you what, luv, you should try your luck with her; not me. You are so cute and still so young. I'm really not who you need in that phase of your life right now" Lena said with the utmost seriousness in her voice.

It was the absolute truth; she actually might have turned Revy away even if there wasn't a certain assassin occupying her mind. Her line of work was sending her all over the world sometimes for months at a time and there was no guarantee that she'd come back. Someone like that was no one you wanted to be your first girlfriend. "Trust me when I say that I'm not good for you, innit right, Dirk?"

"Probably" the grumpy bartender replied with a shrug. He actually doubted that woman would be good for anyone in any kind of relationship. Take away her trademark orange ski-glasses and hide her time harness under her shirt and Lena Oxton looked like just another woman. But the truth couldn't have been more different from that impression.

"See?" Tracer smiled, before giving Revy a bold peck on her cheek while letting go of her hands. Revy was completely speechless and could only watch as Lena elegantly slid off her bar stool, before giving her a cheeky two fingered salute and a mischievous wink. "I'll head home now. Thanks for the Scotch, Dirk." Lena said as she left the bar "And good luck to you, Revy!"

There was a long pause in which Revy stared at the now closed front door, while Dirk began cleaning Lena's tumbler.

"You do know about Overwatch, don't you, girl?" Dirk asked a completely dumbstruck Revy. She only nodded. Her head felt like it was flying off south for the winter. She wondered who that woman was, because she felt like an addictive drug to her.

"Congratulations. You just had the honor of talking to the one and only Tracer"

Revy blinked a couple of times, the last word lingering in the air, like it was made out of smoke. It took some time, before the whole truth seeped down into her mind.

_Tracer. I have been trying to hit on Tracer. THE Tracer..._

The whole situation proofed too much for Revy's nervous mind to handle and process properly. Her shaky legs gave in while she passed out.

Dirk watched from behind his counter while Revy fell to the floor like a wet sack of potatoes. He noticed the wine-drinking, reading woman Tracer had mentioned before shot up from her place and hurried towards Revy. The girl was lying face first on the floor, seemingly dead.

"Jesus Lena, you are losing your touch" Dirk murmured to himself. Yet he supposed Revy wouldn't need to work up courage one more time today. The nameless woman with some rudimentary resemblance to Tracer seemed interested enough. All Revy had to do was faint. That surely was a first in all these decades Dirk had run the pub.

Meanwhile Oxton was standing just outside the 'Pink Pitcher Pub' taking a deep breath. Had Tracer been too cruel just now? Maybe she should just have told Revy that she was seeing someone else? But that wasn't the truth now, was it? And no matter how much Lena desired it, chances of her actually getting somewhere with Widowmaker were rather slim. Some might say even nonexistent. But then again, so were her chances of ever escaping her chronological disorder... which she managed to do as well.

Lena decided to go on a little walk before heading home. Getting some fresh air would surely be a good idea right now.

The entrance to the Pink Pitcher was right at a corner, so Lena didn't have to really turn one to walk down the alley to her left. She still didn't see into the street in which she turned into, however, which was why she crashed face first into someone coming out of that alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to support the story, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction
> 
> thank you everyone for your kind support and help :)


	5. Let's call it a truce

**London suburbs, unknown location, 0034 hours**

Widowmaker pushed herself forward, supporting her weight on the cold and moldy brick wall to her right. The alley was dark and reeked of a lot of disgusting things at once. Paying these details no particular mind, the assassin forced herself to move on, however slowly. Her only concern was going forward, away from where she had been.

She hadn't fucked up things this royally ever before.

The job had been easy enough, she supposed. Get in, shoot the target, get out. Nothing more to it. Or at least there seemed to be nothing more to it at first glance.

The target had been the greasy CEO of a prestigious company which produced control modules for military grade ballistic missiles among other things. Widowmaker obviously didn't ask a lot of questions, but apparently the guy wasn't too happy with the idea of selling this kind of equipment to terrorists such as Talon. So the organization brought a successor in position, ready to succeed the current CEO at a moment's notice. Just the way Talon had handled these kind of affairs so many times before. Make an offer to someone, who was willing to sell them whatever they wanted, in exchange for a bigger chair. It usually was the young and career-obsessed type who agreed to these kind of shady proposals. They obviously weren't told what would happen to the current CEO, but it only took an educated guess to figure out the truth.

The current CEO needed to go. Permanently.

Which was where Widowmaker came into the play. Obviously she was specialized in making away with people who needed to go. All Talon had to do was give her a name and a face and she would take care of the rest.

Simple as that.

The original plan Widowmaker had prepared would have the pencil pusher assassinated with a sniper-rifle from a little less than five miles away. She would strike exactly two hours after he got to work. At that time the target was usually spreading out his legs under his ridiculously large desk in his just as preposterously large office, just like he always did. At least that had been the target's routine the last few days, in which the golden eyed assassin observed him. It would be a relatively easy shot with lots of room to cancel out the wind and a head on angle from right behind the target's office. No problem for the best sniper the world had to offer.

But then the target's paranoia seemed to have kicked in all of a sudden, and he had all the windows, both at the office, as well as at his home, replaced with transparent steel-plates. Nearly 8-inch thick armor steel, which was just as see-though as your common window was. That had put a _slight_ damper on Widowmaker's plans to use her gun for the kill. Not even her high-powered custom-built rifle -no matter how much of a punch it usually packed- was able to pierce _that_ kind of protection.

Now she had to get up close with the target. Personal.

This wasn't how she liked to do things, but still; no problem. Two days later the assassin made her move.

Sneaking into his home was easy enough. Thanks to her reduced body-temperature, the heat sensors didn't detect the intruder at all. Making her way into the home-office was child's play as well. She found the climate control room and gracefully lifted herself into the air vent duct, from where she proceeded. Completely standard procedure; nothing to it.

Even the kill itself had been almost boringly primitive. The target was sitting on his desk, his legs flipped up on the tabletop right in between two pictures. One of him with two little girls, both not older than maybe ten, the other with him and another woman, who might have been his wife. He was idly toying with a pen while leaning back into his chair, phoning with someone.

Widowmaker had dropped down from the air vent behind the target and waited for him to hang up. While she patiently waited for her opportunity to strike, she had to admit that her target did have excellent taste in furnishing. Warm beiges and darker chocolate browns were dominant colors, creating a welcoming and comfortable environment in the brightly lit office.

Widowmaker however didn't get to marvel at the beautiful office for much longer. Her target let his legs fall off his desk, putting the phone down after saying a warm and loving goodbye to someone. The assassin patiently waiting behind him immediately put a bullet through his head with a silenced pistol, splattering dark red blood and pieces of brain all over the two pictures on his desk. The victim's head fell forward, impacting on the tabletop with a loud noise.

Normally, this was the point, where the unfeeling assassin began to experience some life returning to her soul. But just like the last time, this one short moment of happiness was absent. Widowmaker huffed in annoyance, wasting a quick thought about the woman, who caused her emotional reward of killing to disappear. She could almost hear the Brit giggle right behind her, sending a warm shiver down Widow's spine.

This wasn't the time and place to think about her now! Widowmaker shook her head and concentrated on the task at hand. Her job was done. Easy and exactly according to plan.

Not as planned however was the rattling of the target's office door. If Widowmaker wouldn't have dwelled on Tracer, she would have already been gone.

But that wasn't the case.

And now she was a little moment too slow for her escape when the door opened. The now dead target's assistant, who also served as his bodyguard, suddenly burst into the office, catching an intruder right behind the dead CEO. Under normal circumstances, the assistant would have been dead as soon as she came through the door. But Widowmaker, raising her gun did hesitate for a moment. Why in the name of god did that _pute stupide_ have to wear an orange leggings? Why?

If not for that, Widowmaker would have shot the intruder without any hesitation. But the first impulse her brain provided her with was _Tracer!_ For a moment she actually thought the bubbly Brit once again interrupted her work. And that was why she hesitated and why she didn't follow her first impulse to pull the trigger.

She didn't want to shoot Tracer. Well, that wasn't strictly true. Sometimes a part of her wished she'd have shot the Brit ages ago simply for all the sleepless nights Tracer was causing, but that wasn't the point right now. She didn't want to shoot Tracer at this moment.

Unfortunately, Widowmaker had been wrong. The woman coming into the target's office hadn't been Tracer.

And that was what gave the bodyguard, who really hadn't suspected to find a hitman in the office of her boss, the necessary advantage. That second or two in which Talon's master assassin hesitated was enough for the bodyguard to shake off her confusion, draw her pistol, and put a hole into Widowmaker's abdomen. Luckily, the bodyguard was a lousy shot, and the assassin was fast enough to blow imposter-Tracer's brain out before she could fire another round.

Widowmaker suppressed the pain in her stomach as she walked over to check if the intruder really was dead. Which she was, at least judging from that large hole in her head, which was spilling blood onto the fine crème-white carped. Widow took a moment to look at the dead woman for a bit longer.

Damn. Someone wearing a Tracer _cosplay_ almost got her killed. Why was that woman wearing a freaking _Tracer_ cosplay? The golden eyed assassin didn't even want to know. _The real Tracer would never do as much as look at that moron_ , Widowmaker thought by herself, as the answer for her question basically forced itself in her mind. _Pervert._

In disgust, Widow turned around to leave. The purple haired woman didn't bother making the scenery look like the two corpses shot each other. There was most likely one bullet too many somewhere around the office, and a third person's DNA was also all over the place. Not that it would be of much use. Widowmaker's blood rendered itself useless after it had been outside of her body for more than 10 minutes. All hail Talon's department for genetic reprogramming. Her blood would be completely indistinguishable from dirt soon enough. With an annoyed grunt, Widow left the target's home, pressing a hand to her stomach to prevent excessive blood loss.

She needed to reach the safehouse.

Which was why she now dragged herself forward, leaving a dark line of glistering purple blood on the disgustingly dirty brick wall next to her. She needed to get to safety as soon as possible. Her hideout for the mission was still rather far away, but she'd make it.

It was her only option.

Widowmaker was forcing herself forward, even if each step felt more heavy than the one before and her head was feeling light.

One step after another.

She'd make it. There had been worse situations which she escaped from. This was easy. No problem. Just keep walking and breathe deeply.

Her vision was losing focus more and more often, becoming completely blurry only to return to normal again. She was losing too much blood, yet moving was her only option. Reach the safehouse where there would be medical equipment. Widow could use it to patch herself up.

Focused solely on moving forward, Widowmaker wanted to turn the next corner, before someone walked right into her, knocking her off her feet.

She grunted in pain, as she fell to the ground together with the person who had knocked her over. Widowmaker wanted to hiss something aggressive and offensive, but then she saw it.

Brown eyes, warm as the summer sun burning into hers like a fierce fire. A foreign warmth seeping into her cold body, the pain in her abdomen forgotten.

"Oy! I'm sorry! I didn't see you there!" The other person started apologizing "Are you-" she stopped to stare.

Tracer didn't believe her eyes for one moment. The whole evening she had been racking her brain, trying to figure out how she'd approach a certain purple-haired assassin. The whole evening she didn't have the first idea and now she literally ran into her.

She looked into cold, golden eyes, so foreign to this world, yet also so very scared at the moment. Widowmaker didn't make a move. She didn't attack her.

Nothing.

Something was not right.

Maybe it was the fact that she had been wounded. Maybe it was because Widowmaker's mind wasn't wiped according to schedule, or maybe it was because the warm body of Tracer being once again on top of her felt so undeniably good that Widowmaker didn't feel any hostility. Whatever the reason, in that moment she didn't want to fight Tracer no matter how much she knew it would be what was expected of her. She simply didn't want to. And she also knew that she was in absolutely no condition to do so; but that was not the point.

"What a pleasant surprise, _ma chérie_ " she breathed.

"What are you doing here!?" Lena cried, completely overwhelmed. Her brain was trying to figure out the reason why Amélie could possibly be in front of her, but she couldn't think of even a single legit expanation.

"You don't want to know, _chérie_ " the assassin replied "Would you mind terribly, if we won't try to kill each other today?" she asked, hoping that maybe Tracer would just let things slide and she could be on her way to the safehouse. Her time was ticking away rapidly.

Lena might have imagined it, but was there a slight smile on Amélie's lips? Was she happy to see her? Or was Lena just seeing what she wanted to see? No. The Overwatch agent was interpreting too much into the situation. This was just a really strange coincidence; nothing more.

But this coincidence still played right into Lena's hands. If she didn't screw things up now, maybe she'd get a chance to come to talking terms with the assassin she desired so much. For that to work she would have to be very careful now and not rush things. They were still enemies. No one said anything else. _But she asked for a truce today, didn't she? Maybe I should just go for it?_

Tracer began by slowly sliding off Widowmaker with the intention of helping the French assassin back up. But before she could do that, Lena noticed the random jacket she grabbed before heading out to the bar felt strangely wet. She thought nothing of it and looked down on herself. A lot of things she expected, none being particularly worrisome, yet the large purple blotch slowly soaking into her jacket made her throat tighten up. Lena's eyes darted to Widowmaker's abdomen, which the assassin tried to shield with her hand. A striking pain of shock rushed through Oxton as her eyes went wide.

"You're hurt!" she exclaimed, immediately crouching back down to her rival's side. There was dark blood gushing out in between Amélie's fingers which were tightly pressed on to her wound.

"What do you care?" Widowmaker asked. Surprisingly, she didn't sound hissing, or accusing, or anything like that. Instead she sounded really surprised. Maybe it really had to do with her excessive loss of blood, but for some reason she felt safe and comfortable in Tracer's presence, which normally would have made her nervous. But not in this moment.

"I just do, luv. You need a hospital! I'll call an ambulance!" Tracer replied with some very apparent panic in her voice. She tried to turn away from Widowmaker, but was stopped by a bloody hand.

" _Ma chérie,_ if you call an ambulance, you could just as well shoot me." she said weakly. Widowmaker was a wanted criminal, terrorist, and murderer. There was no way she could go to a hospital and walk away the next day. She would be imprisoned immediately, and that could never happen. Should Talon learn that she was caught, they'd rather eliminate her than risk her spilling any secrets.

Tracer scratched her head. For a moment she forgot who was lying on the street right in front of her and what would happen to her if she was caught. Lena obviously didn't know about the consequences beyond imprisonment, but that alone seemed good enough a reason to not want to go to a hospital.

"Right... sorry. I forgot" Lena replied, thinking hard about what she should do. Well, she _should_ call an ambulance and arrest the assassin for all the crimes she committed. She also _should_ contact Overwatch HQ immediately, reporting the incident. She _should_ hand the wanted terrorist over to the authorities. It would have been the right thing to do.

But Lena didn't do the right thing... obviously.

"If you want to help me, you should leave me alone" Widowmaker said.

"No way in hell!" Lena almost yelled, the reply so immediate it brought a small frown to Amélie's face. Lena ignored it, while she quickly stripped out of her jacket, putting the still warm cloth over Widowmaker like it was a blanket. She had made her decision and knew it would either turn out to be best in her life, or the one she regretted forever. It made no difference now. Lena wouldn't let Widowmaker bleed to death in a dirty alley... or anywhere else for that matter.

"What are you-?"

"Shut up, luv, before I regret it!" Lena instructed, before adding "This is just this once, you hear me?" Tracer said, without even knowing why. Somehow she thought that keeping some distance at the moment would be good. She didn't want to make Widowmaker feel like this came with any obligations.

Tracer needed something to patch Amélie up for now. Luckily, the Brit was wearing a dark blue long-sleeved shirt underneath her jacket. This would do just nicely. Grabbing the cloth and biting down on the shoulder, she violently ripped off one of her sleeves. The sound of tearing fabric echoed through the dark and silent alley, leaving Widowmaker wondering. What was this girl doing? Why was she even here? It wasn't like they were allies or anything, so... why? This wasn't going the way she imagined at all. None of it.

Quick and skilled fingers rapped the torn off sleeve around Widowmaker's abdomen before the makeshift bandage was tied together tightly. So far that was a kind gesture from the only one Widowmaker would have ever allowed to do that. If there was a part of her, that wanted to resist, it was too weak to convince her into doing so.

However, what really shocked Widowmaker was how Lena suddenly let her arms glide under her cold body, picking her up bridal style.

"W-Woah!" Widowmaker cried out in surprise. "What the hell are you doing!?"

"You said you didn't want us to kill each other today, luv." Lena replied cheerfully. She tried to be optimistic now, because she was rather certain Widowmaker was very much aware of her serious condition. "And leaving you to bleed to death would be just like killing you, innit right?"

"That's a strange way of looking at things, _ma chérie_ " Widowmaker replied, shaking her head. She would have never admitted it out loud, but right here in Tracer's arms, feeling her warmth and getting the opportunity of talking to her, she could have died peacefully. Which unfortunately started to seem like a not so unlikely possibility. All those advanced implants and genetic modifications aside, Widowmaker still could bleed to death.

Still, better this way than on the cold floor, she supposed. No longer having the strength to hold her head up, she let it rest on Lena's shoulder, inhaling her scent. She smelled like she had just come freshly out of a pub, smoke and alcohol were overlapping with the sweet flowery odor of Lena's perfume.

"The truce is just for today, luv," Tracer giggled cutely as she carried Widowmaker around the corner. Looks like her stroll would have to wait for another day. She really didn't mind. All that was important now was getting Amélie to safety and tending to her wounds. Easier said than done.

Her heavy head resting on Tracer's shoulder, Widowmaker watched the world around her glide past. She was carried out of the dark alley and saw an inviting looking bar, which had a really odd name. There also were two blokes passionately making out right in front of the entrance.

"Have you been to this bar?" Widowmaker wanted to know. On the one hand, because that typical pub-scent sticking to Lena made her curious. In addition the bar also didn't look like your ordinary tavern either. On the other hand, Widow was starting to feel _very_ tired. She knew that falling asleep now was possibly fatal in her situation, so she tried to keep herself awake by talking about whatever crossed her mind.

"Sure have, luv. It's my local" Tracer replied, looking down to Amélie with a warm smile. It instantly made the injured woman feel more alive. Just why was it that the blue assassin felt so _good_ in the company of one of her worst _enemies._ Was it all because she remembered more than ever before? Or was there more to it? Was there more in between them; something Widowmaker didn't understand yet? Something she didn't know, or knew once but was forced to forget?

"It's a gay-bar, isn't it?" she asked plainly.

Lena giggled again. She wasn't hiding her sexuality from anyone. The thought of starting now didn't even occur. "That's a strange thing to notice, luv" she replied in deliberately good mood. "But yes, it is."

-/-

Half an hour later, Widowmaker was lying in Tracer's bed just barely conscious, while Tracer had grabbed her headset. She was on the phone with someone, as she carried blankets and first aid kits to the bed. The assassin was too far gone to even hear the conversation Tracer had with whoever was at the other end of the line.

Back at Watchpoint Gibraltar, the phone right next to Dr. Ziegler rang so loudly, the doctor almost jumped out of her bed in surprise. With tired hands she grabbed at the device until she found the accept-button "Mhhh? Dr. Ziegler here. What is it?"

"Angela, it's me!" Tracer's loud voice almost blew Mercy's eardrum to bits "I need your help, luv!"

"Lena? Do you have any idea how late it is?" Angela murmured, holding the phone away from her ear. Damn, it was the middle of the night and she wanted to sleep!

"How do I stop excessive bleeding from a gun-wound?" There was the rattling of something metallic falling to the ground followed by some very heavy cursing. "C'mon luv, talk to me!" There was sheer panic in Lena's voice and suddenly Mercy had forgotten about her tiredness. She sat up in her bed, straight as a candle.

"Why aren't you at a hospital?" she asked in all seriousness.

"Can't. Angela, what do I do?! Help me!" Lena pleaded, her tone making it very much _clear_ that there was no time for asking long questions.

"Alright, I'll talk you through it. Do you have a standard medical supply kit?"

"Old Overwatch stuff, yes"

"Good. First, you want to identify the wound, ballistic or plasma? You recognize this by-"

"Ballistic!" Lena's reply came immediately. She received the standard military first aid training when she still was a fighter pilot at the royal air force. Identifying the kind of gun wound was barely within her capabilities.

"Alright. Is the bullet still stuck inside?" Angela asked. Someone groaning in pain and some blankets being shifted was all she heard for a while before Lena replied.

"No; it penetrated."

"Tell me the diameters of the entrance and the exit hole." Mercy demanded, before quickly realizing that Lena would be exactly the kind of person, who would start running for a ruler now to measure the diameter. So the doctor quickly added: "Is one larger than the other?". More painful grunting and silently muttered apologies were audible at Mercy's end of the line.

"No! Approximately the same size" Lena replied.

"That's good. It's safe to assume the bullet didn't splinter then. Alright. Take the wound-foam from your medical supply kit. It's the red tube in the left compartment, right on the top."

Lena rooted through the first aid kit. "Yes, got it. What now?"

"Shake it ten times hard and pop the cap. Then press the pointy end as deep into the wound as possible and push the trigger button. Keep going until the tube is completely empty. This is important. Keep going until the unit beeps. The foam might overflow on the exit wound, but that's ok. Keep going," Angela said. "This hurts like hell, so warn your patient."

"Got it!" Lena replied, the noise of preparing the wound foam was transmitted to Angela. "Luv, Angela said this hurts, so bear with me, alright? Don't worry. It'll over soon, I promise!" Lena said silently. A sound reminiscent of spray cream being used preceded the loud scream of another woman. Angela actually cringed a little when she heard that.

"What now? She lost a lot of blood, Angela. God, please help me!" Lena sounded like she was on the verge of crying

"Calm down, _Süße._ Almost done." Angela said steadily. "There should be a roll of biotic patches in the kit. It's inside the blue box in the bottom right corner of the kit. Cut them into two large halves and apply to the back and front of the wound. Then we'll work on something to counter the blood loss. Do you have freezer bags?"

-/-

When Widowmaker woke up, she felt like she just had the strangest dream. She dreamt about being hurt during a mission and Tracer heroically saving her from certain death. It actually felt more like a fantasy than a dream, something she would have wanted to happen but would never actually take place in that way.

Still, the idea of spending some peaceful time with the Brit, who had occupied the most private corners of her mind, was nice. Widowmaker had given up on fighting that some time ago. To be honest, the time she started thinking more and more fondly about Tracer aligned shockingly precisely with the time her mind _wasn't_ wiped.

Coincidence? Widowmaker didn't think so.

Looking at the ceiling of her room, Widowmaker had to notice that this in fact wasn't her room at all. The light wooden panels supported by heavy beams were completely foreign. She took a deep breath, but was stopped by a sharp stinging pain in her abdomen.

Wanting to lift the sheets off her body, she noticed an arterial infusion, which was hooked up to her right arm. Following the colorless tube from the needle inside her arm upwards, her golden eyes came to a stop at a freezer bag filled with what seemed to be saline solution. The bag was provisionally hanging from a bent metal coat hanger fixed to a floor lamp.

Carefully, Widowmaker wanted to pull the needle of the IV-bag out of her arm, but she found her hand being firmly held in place. Fearing the worst, Widowmaker looked to her left.

And what she saw felt like someone had punched her in the face... in the best way imaginable.

Sitting on an uncomfortable looking chair, Tracer had been watching over a sleeping Widowmaker for hours, until exhaustion finally proved too much for her. She fell asleep, her face on the edge of the bed, while she was still half sitting on the chair. And all the time she had been holding Amélie's left hand tightly in her own.

Widowmaker gulped heavily. So it was no dream, no fantasy, and no whatever else. It really happened. With a heavy hand, she lifted the blanket up to find a large biotic plaster on her abdomen. No dream indeed.

Widowmaker looked back at Tracer, who was snoring cutely. She seemed so peaceful, so... happy. It was such a simple gesture of kindness, the way she held Widowmaker's hand like she wanted to reassure her that she wasn't alone and that there was someone there for her. It made the hardened assassin suppress tears.

Waking up here, seeing what she saw now, being where she was and remembering what she remembered, made Widowmaker feel so many different things at once. All of which positive, and none of which were feelings she remembered having ever before.

The warm morning sun was shining through the large windows, bathing the whole bedroom in beautiful light, like god meant to tell them there was hope.

Yet, Widowmaker knew better than that. There was no hope, no matter how much she felt like this was _right._ Like it was supposed to be this way. No matter how much she wanted to wake Lena up and thank her for everything she did, Widowmaker knew it would have been a foolish mistake. She wasn't free to make her own choices. She wasn't free to give in to irrelevant desires. No matter how much she denied it to herself, she wasn't free at all. She was Talon's slave and nothing more. It was all she knew.

Tracer had made it clear: They were enemies.

_"the truce is just for today, luv"_

Amélie remembered these words very clearly. Tracer had been absolutely right; today they would be back to fighting each other. The bubbly Brit apparently had a strong sense of honor, not wanting her rival to bleed to death in a dirty alley. Apparently she wanted them to fight it out one day, and the French assassin was thankful for it.

It was better this way, Widowmaker supposed. No matter how much she wanted to get closer to Tracer, it was a stupid idea. Every aspect of it.

No.

They would fight it out one day. Widowmaker knew it just as certain as she knew the outcome of that fight. The decision was an easy one. This wasn't her world anymore, and it was not her place to live on. Not when Tracer would have to die in the dust in her stead.

Carefully retrieving her hand from Tracer's so she wouldn't wake up, the wounded assassin removed the IV from her arm, before silently getting out of bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to support the story, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction


	6. Kisses and Traitors

**London suburbs, weekly market near Lena Oxton's appartment, two weeks later, 1027 hours.**

Lena was browsing the different booths at the weekly market in her neighborhood which was taking place each Saturday at the civic center right in front of the town hall. It was a popular event, where fresh vegetables were sold along with various other different agricultural products. Oxton walked through the crowd, making her way from one booth to the next, sometimes chatting happily with the owners or joking with some customers. Chatting about meaningless stuff with the vendors was refreshing and took her mind off the events from two weeks ago.

In hindsight, Lena shouldn't have been surprised when she found the bed in front of her vacant of the person she had put inside of it the night before. And truth to be told, she really wasn't surprised so much by the absence of Widowmaker as she was by the condition of her bed-room. All the blankets were folded neatly and stacked above one another, the clean sheets separated from those soaked in blood. The first aid kits were packed together and properly stored away, while all the used instruments had been placed in the dishwasher.

Widowmaker had cleaned up before she left.

Lena couldn't help but laugh as she inspected her apartment. It might have been more tidy than before. There also was a note left for her, written to the mirror in the vestibule with red lipstick.

 _Merci beaucoup, ma chérie_. _I owe you_. And the imprint of a kiss right next to it. Tracer smiled like an enamored teen at the note. Chances were she'd never wipe that away.

Somehow Lena expected something to happen after that. Some hint or some event, that would lead her to Widowmaker one more time.

But nothing did happen at all. And she knew it had been a stupid wish. She had told Amélie herself that the truce would only be for one day. Back when Lena said that, she did so hoping it would make the French beauty feel more comfortable. Yet now Oxton wished she hadn't said that. Maybe then Amélie wouldn't have left? Maybe.

Still, even with Amélie's absence, there was an overwhelming happiness spreading in Lena's heart, making her cheerful like she never felt before. For the last two weeks there didn't pass a day, in which Widowmaker wouldn't appear in her thoughts one way or the other. Imagining a world where they could openly approach each other had become Tracer's favorite diversion; it simply made her happy. She was aware that this feeling of bliss wouldn't be with her forever, but she still wanted to hold on to it for as long as possible.

What Tracer wasn't aware of was the watchful eye which followed her ever since she had left her apartment. It was there the moment she had closed the dark green wooden front door, it was there on her hasty way to the market, and it was present now. A transparent red crosshair was right in between Lena's beautiful brown eyes when she handed an elderly looking woman some coins before grabbing a juicy looking, bright red apple. Lena smiled happily as she bit into the deliciously sweet fruit.

The crosshair followed Tracer with deadly accuracy, wavering not once, as the Overwatch -agent strolled further around the market. There had been a couple of dozen opportunities for an absolutely deadly shot since Oxton had left her apartment. All the hidden sniper inside the belfry of the town hall would have needed to do was squeeze the trigger and Lena's fate would have been sealed.

But that obviously didn't happen.

Widowmaker wasn't here to kill Tracer, no. And even if she was, it might have been most likely the first order she disobeyed. Luckily, that wasn't the case this time. The skilled assassin had again been sent to London to get rid of some random businessman who had tried to scam Talon for some of their money. And even though they wouldn't even have noticed the sum was gone in the grand total of things, the matter wouldn't be permitted to slide. Talon dispatched Widowmaker to find and dispose of him, leaving the planning and preparation of the mission to their operative, like they always did. She told her superiors she'd need maybe three weeks or more for the job and would return after everything had been taken care of.

That had been a brazen lie, the likes of which Widowmaker never told her superiors before. She entirely blamed Reaper for it. He was the one who got her hopes and dreams back up and running when he prevented the last scheduled mental overhaul.

Or so she told herself.

But who was she really kidding here? It was Tracer who screwed with her head so much. The last two weeks had been the worst torture and the sweetest heaven all at once. What the bubbly Brit had done for her and why she helped her was still not quite clear to Widowmaker. What was clear, however, was the fact that the woman was undeniably stuck in her mind. Now even more than before. And while before Widow tried to rationalize her feelings, telling herself it was just because Tracer managed to get closer to her than anyone before, she now didn't care anymore. The brown- haired Brit with the warm eyes made her feel. She did from the moment they first met, and continued to do so every time they ran into each other. Their last encounter was proof enough. In fact, it was enough to convince the otherwise loyal Widowmaker to lie to her superiors.

The businessmen on which the hit had been put posed no problem whatsoever for the experienced assassin. He had been found and killed on the first day she arrived in London. Ever since then, the golden -eyed hitman was watching Lena, obviously without her knowledge. It was for that very reason Widow told her superiors she'd need way more time for the job than she actually needed: just so she could study the girl, who made her insides tremble just by thinking about her, more closely. Widowmaker hoped she might be able to figure out _why_ that was exactly.

Reaper be damned, if he hadn't prevented the memory cleaning, she wouldn't have the first idea who Tracer even was. But her memory didn't get wiped, and so the urge to interact with the bubbly Brit grew stronger and stronger each day until Widowmaker decided she needed to at least see her.

And now she did see her; through the scope of her sniper-rifle, true, but she was there, as close as she could allow herself to get to the girl who made her feel _alive_ whenever that cheeky smirk of hers flashed in front of her mental eye. Tracer was so lively with such an unwavering positive attitude towards anything and anyone, even an assassin like Widowmaker.

Doing so much as imagining those large, brown buoyant eyes Tracer had made Amélie almost remember that she once was a warm and caring woman herself. The bubbly Brit was so full of life and so reviving that even thinking about her intoxicating smile, her warm eyes and her careful touch felt like being reanimated from hibernation.

And she was beautiful. From her head to her toes, there wasn't a thing Widowmaker would have changed; especially not those almost infinite legs, which ended in the most perfect butt god ever created. Wearing that bright orange, skintight pair of leggings didn't help reducing the attention to that particular feature of Tracer either.

Widowmaker didn't even bother thinking about the idea that it could be abnormal for a woman to think _that_ way about another woman. She simply accepted Tracer as someone who made her _feel_ and Amélie didn't give a single flying fuck where Tracer's genitals were positioned. Not only because those kind of social reservations were among the first things Talon's brainwashing program blew into oblivion, no, but mostly because Widowmaker truly didn't care about it. There was the faintest hint of a straw in reach, which may be her ticket to something she thought impossible.

Happiness.

She wouldn't deny herself that because the person making her happy was another girl. Who the fuck cares seriously? Well, most people at Talon cared, actually. _They would probably rather see me go out with that ridiculous talking monkey than another girl._

The gorgeous assassin groaned, frustrated, letting her rifle sink for a moment to blink a sharp pain out of her eyes. She had been staring through that sight for too long, memorizing every small detail about Tracer. The way her hair bobbed with each step she took, her almost cheeky freckles which made her beautiful face so adorable, and her gorgeous smile which was enough to lighten up the night. Oh, what wouldn't Widowmaker give to be able to simply go down there and talk to Lena.

But it was impossible, and not because her skin was an unnatural shade of blue, which would attract all the unwanted attention, not because she was carrying a huge-ass sniper rifle around with her, and also not because she certainly wasn't dressed for a stroll in the market in broad daylight.

No.

Widowmaker didn't care about any of those things. She would have done it anyway if it wasn't for one fact: Amélie was sure that the first thing she'd see from Tracer wouldn't be her candid smile, nor would it be her beautiful brown eyes. No, it would have been the business end of her rapid-firing plasma-pistols.

She couldn't really blame her. Their truce was for one day and one day alone. Tracer had done more than enough to help her rival. They were back to being enemies again, and Tracer had made that clear. Besides, Widowmaker wouldn't know what she'd say anyway.

All of this felt so stupid and so out of place. It might have been an ungrounded fear that Tracer might attack her on sight, but it was a fear nonetheless. Widowmaker was so confused at the moment. She wanted to be close to Tracer, but at the same time, she didn't. She hadn't the first idea of what to do, so maybe telling herself that approaching the bubbly Brit would result in violence was just a feeble excuse for not having the guts to do something.

Widow picked her rifle back up, letting the scope glide over the market, searching for the girl which let her tiny emotional world blow up in a giant whirlwind. The crosshair scanned over the crowd, but Tracer was already gone. The assassin groaned again, letting the rifle sink down one more time. Of course she'd lose her in that crowd. How could she be so stupid? There were a million different alleys, corners, or even other stores which Tracer could have vanished into in those few seconds she didn't pay attention.

The beautiful, purple-haired woman thought back to the last time Tracer had vanished from her sights like that. That was back in the museum, when she tried to steal Doomfist's gauntlet together with Reaper. She had her directly in her sights, back then with the full intent of squeezing the trigger and shooting her. But Reaper suddenly had to deal with that monstrosity of an ape, so Widowmaker shifted her attention for the fraction of a second. By the time her watchful eye returned to where Tracer had been, she was already long gone. The Overwatch-operative reappeared directly behind her just a moment later, letting off a witty comment with her alluring British accent.

Widowmaker chuckled silently. She could imagine what Tracer would say now.

"What'cha looking at, luv?"

Widowmaker heard that voice of this one girl, who had rescued her, who did those confusing things to her soul, and who she had been watching those past few days like she was really there, right behind her. _Great, now I am already hearing her voice inside my head. I am going to go insane._..

"At you, _ma chérie_ " Widowmaker replied out loud, completely ignoring that she would only go insane way faster if she started having conversations with imaginary Tracers. "Because I am a pathetic excuse of a woman who cannot work up the courage to talk to you, even after all you did for me. We should have extended our truce for a few days. I can't stand just looking at you from afar," saying it aloud like that made it sound even more ridiculous than it felt. And it already felt pretty ridiculous.

For crying out loud, she was the deadliest, most dangerous assassin the world had to offer. She had killed people from completely impossible angles in even more impossible situations, taking risks no normal human would ever have taken, and walked away from it just fine. Yet she couldn't grow a pair and approach Lena Oxton. Because of what?

Because they were enemies? Because they weren't supposed to talk?

No.

Because Widowmaker feared that Tracer _could_ feel similarly. That particular fear wasn't as bad in the past, but ever since Amélie was injured, it kept creeping in her mind like an annoying little bug. Even if her memories of that night weren't the clearest and even if there definitely were some black spots, Widowmaker recalled one thing more clearly than anything else:

Tracer had been in a gay-bar. And it was her local. She said so herself. And that could only mean one thing. The mere thought drove Widowmaker crazy with anxiety but also some kind of weird excitement. She didn't understand herself fully, but something inside her definitely had changed when she was thinking about Tracer. Was it because the other girl could technically be an option now?

Widowmaker didn't know. She didn't even know how to feel about it either.

Amélie was scared the bubbly Brit might show an interest in her, giving the brainwashed sniper a tiny insight in what she was truly missing out on. A _normal_ life of sorts. And just when she'd had caught that glimpse of what could have been, Widowmaker knew her brain would be wiped clean again and she wouldn't remember anything. The next time she'd meet Tracer, she'd shoot to kill again.

The thought alone scared her out of her mind. Not only would she lose everything for another time, she would endanger Tracer as well, in a similar way in which she had killed her husband. Exploiting built up trust.

She could never let that happen. Ever. If one of the two would have to die, it surely mustn't be Tracer.

Widowmaker pushed her rifle out of the way, frustrated with the entire situation. " _Mon Dieu_!" she whispered to herself "What am I even doing here?"

"You know, luv, we can extend that truce for as long as you want."A voice Widowmaker surely _did not_ imagine said from behind her. "And if you want to ask me out, you just have to do so. I usually don't bite"

She spun around on the floor, as if stung by an adder, just to see Tracer standing right above her, boldly taking a bite from the apple she just bought while stemming one hand to her hip, pressing it to the side just a little bit.

The fact that Widowmaker was here, watching her browsing through the market was enough for Tracer to throw all caution into the wind. The assassin was here just for her, and not her as a target, but for her as a person she was interested in. Now was Lena's chance, and she wouldn't let it pass by. But that meant being clear about her intentions from square one.

"If you want to go out with me, I'd love to, you know?" Tracer added cheekily, licking her lips.

"The bar..." Widowmaker's eyes were wide open, a heavy shock stuck in her bones, making movement completely impossible. The only option for her was to stare blankly, struggling to comprehend how the world around her at the moment was real life. What the abused sniper saw was blowing away all her doubts and fears at once and left nothing but an unfamiliar, yet confusing, feeling of bliss. Widowmaker was completely stunned while she took in the overwhelming presence of Tracer.

The cutest giggle Widow has ever heard was enough to return her drifting thoughts back to reality.

"You know, luv, in your condition I wouldn't have noticed the person picking me up, yet alone some random bar." Tracer snickered. "But yes, the pub." Lena took another bite off her apple, hesitating for a moment with if she really should say the truth so straight forward. Well, she always did, so why start beating about the bush now? There really was no reason. "I'm as gay as girls come, so no false shyness!" she announced, while winking at Widowmaker in a rather seductive way.

The overwhelmed assassin was never in her life before so completely dumbstruck. Her own body didn't comply with her brains commands anymore.

How?

Why?

She felt like someone dumped a huge amount of water into an undersized funnel. There were so many new things, new feelings and new information, which were only slowly trickling down into Widowmaker's conscious mind.

"How did you...?" she asked, still dumbstruck like never before. The woman with those beautiful golden eyes had no idea how Tracer was even here right now. Because there was no way she should have been. Not that Widowmaker didn't like the idea, but there shouldn't have been a way Tracer could have noticed her presence. Unless...

The brown haired beauty laughed happily "Well, I had an eye on the rooftops since you vanished from my apartment." Tracer smiled.

"I didn't want to-"

"Kill me?" Lena finished the sentence. "I know. You had plenty of opportunities to do that" Tracer said with her disarming smile, carefully sitting down on Amélie's knees, almost in her lap. It was a bit on the bold side, but Lena didn't want to hold back any longer; she _really_ wanted to be even closer to Amélie now that she already was so close already.

Unbeknownst to Tracer, the natural warmth of her body was seeping into the modified assassin, making her heart beat unnaturally fast for her circumstances. It was the first time the hitman recalled that she felt her own heartbeat.

She inhaled sharply at the contact, but welcomed the warmth with an anticipating shiver. There went her plan of leaving Tracer alone for her own safety. Simply being so close to the Brit made her head spin and her cold skin tingle in anticipation.

"How are you? Your injury and... well everything else?" Lena asked with honest interest, running her hot hands gently over Widowmaker's arms. Not once did the Brit break eye contact. Her deep brown orbs peered deeply into the cold gold like she tried to see what was underneath it. Widowmaker felt as though she were melting like warm butter in the summer sun, her petrified body cured by nothing but a gentle smile and a warm touch.

Tracer had to be a witch. Or a drug. There was no other way to explain why else Widowmaker would feel so _good_ in her company. So safe, so wanted, and so welcome. Gone was the fear Tracer might reject her along with her reservations concerning that stupid truce. Widowmaker now saw it for what it was: A ruse. Meant to keep up a pretence.

"I'm alright. Don't worry; it's healing..." _faster than it should._ Amélie replied, before suddenly changing the topic. This was nagging in her head since Tracer suddenly showed up, and Widowmaker didn't want to talk about her health anyway. "How long have you been standing there?"

Lena tilted her head sideways. "What you mean, luv? Didn't I ask you what you were looking at?" Tracer wanted to know, blinking innocently, like their current position was the most normal thing in the world.

The assassin just now seemed to realize what Tracer had said before.

_I'm as gay as girls come._

Up until now, it was a suspicion. Something likely, but also something not definite. Now it was as definite as eggs is eggs.

Oh. My. God.

And she basically told that gay girl she was doing nothing else than looking at her. Way to go, Widowmaker, way to go. Well, Amélie ruined her chances of plausible deniability long before she knew she would even need them.

" _Mon Dieu!_ " Widowmaker exclaimed "I... I thought I imagined that"

Lena laughed cutely "No, luv, you didn't. I asked you"

Oxton obviously didn't realize what she was doing to Widowmaker. How she turned the smart assassins brain into nothing but goo, just by the way she was talking to her. How she made her body respond in a way Widowmaker never experienced before, just by the way she was touching her, how her voice was a sweet symphony in those alert ears, and how the mere thought about Tracer gave Widowmaker goosebumps.

Lena didn't have the first idea that she wielded such power over the assassin. This was simply the moment she had been hoping for since Widowmaker burst into her life.

Her one chance to say something to the assassin, and it was even in a rather peaceful environment as well. Lena couldn't have hoped for a better opportunity than the one presented to her right in this moment.

Yet now that the time had come, she felt as nervous as never before. Dammit, Tracer hadn't been nervous while talking to a girl since forever. Why now all of a sudden?! It was the worst possible timing! But Lena just couldn't help it, Amélie looked even more breathtaking today than Lena remembered, and gazing into those magnificent golden eyes made her forget her own name. Over the last few days, she tried to come up with witty or smooth things to say, and up until now, everything went according to plan, but now there was a really tricky part up ahead and the words Lena had prepared were suddenly forgotten.

Oxton was left with no other choice but to ramble nervously, in much a similar way Revy did back in the bar: "You know, it's funny, cause I actually wanted to talk to you. I kinda hoped to do it last time, but you were already gone when I woke up" Lena tried, turning the apple in her hand with shaky fingers "I really don't know why I brought that truce up the last time either, because the reality is... I... I kind of kept thinking about you and, well I... Didn't want to overwhelm you, because I... I..." the words got stuck in Lena's throat.

To Amélie this was some kind of twisted paradise. Something long forgotten, something very much _human_ awoke back to life deep inside her. Some part of her, which still had earthly needs and primal desires. It was something Talon had tried to suppress with all their modification.

But they failed.

They didn't fully achieve what they wanted. Deep inside Amélie, something was starting to heat up again, fueling her desires, making her feel a strange warmth in her chest. A warmth no number of kills managed to create before, a warmth she never thought was possible and a warmth which could only originate from those forcefully suppressed human desires. Amélie didn't know a lot of them, but she recognized them when they showed up. One of those desires was right in front of her now, not even the length of an arm away, basically sitting in her lap.

_Tracer._

The bubbly Brit was so wonderfully close again, Amélie could feel the heat of her body and smell her intoxicating scent, both of which let her drastically slowed down heart beat higher and faster. If her world had been black and white up until now, in that moment it had turned into the most beautiful of lively colors without her even understanding.

She wasn't even listening to what Tracer was trying to say anymore, because adrenalin was ringing so loudly in her ears she couldn't hear her if she wanted to. She didn't need to listen; looking at Lena was more than enough to understand. Inwardly, Amélie wanted to laugh at her own stupidity. She hadn't _really_ thought that Tracer would be hostile if she'd approach her. How could she honestly consider that a possibility? Lena had saved her from bleeding to death in a dirty alley, let her sleep in her own bed, and held her hand through the entire night.

You don't do that for people you consider your enemy. No one would. No matter what they _say,_ ultimately what they _do_ is of importance.

Widowmaker wanted to laugh. How could she seriously assume anything else but the truth?

Tracer _liked_ her. Widowmaker didn't know why, and she didn't know how, but it didn't matter anymore.

In that moment, Amélie couldn't hold back anymore.

She knew this was wrong.

She knew it was dangerous for both her as well as Tracer, but there wasn't a thing she could have done against it. An overwhelming urge to _touch_ pulled on her heart as the otherwise cold and collected Widowmaker lost the iron grip which was forced on herself by Talon for the first time. She leaned forward to do exactly what her soul yearned for. _Touch Tracer. Touch her. Feel her. Taste her. Do it!_

Lena suddenly opened her eyes wide in shock as the girl she tried to clumsily convey her situation and weird feelings to and who, up until now, hadn't done anything but stare at her like she was a ghost, suddenly shot up. Widowmaker held Lena's flushed face with gentle, yet horribly cold hands before she brought her face closer to Lena's. Golden eyes were peering into brown ones, glistering with surprise and anticipation. Amélie was so close to Lena, she could already feel the warmth of her skin on her own. After a very brief moment of hesitation, Amélie tenderly pressed her lips onto Lena's. A wave of electricity rushed through both of their bodies, as Widowmaker brushed her lips over this beautiful forbidden fruit.

For a second, Tracer's body froze solid in shock before she realized that this was really happening.

It was no dream.

It was no wild fantasy either.

This was real life.

Lena's eyes fluttered closed before she granted Widowmaker's equally cold tongue entrance into her mouth, returning the kiss with hot passion. This felt so unreal, yet it also felt so infinitely better compared to the fantasies Lena had masturbated to on a regular basis since King's Row.

She felt the apple she held in her hand glide out of her fingers as Amélie intensified the tender kiss. The red fruit fell to the ground, probably rolling out of the belfry and falling down onto the civic square. Tracer didn't mind; she was too caught up in the moment, letting Amélie explore her mouth. Her hands wandered up Amélie's bare back, drawing warm circles on exposed cold skin, when Widowmaker suddenly wrapped her arms around Lena's body, picking her up and lifting her into the air. A few steps later, Tracer found herself pressed to the wall of the stair-house in the middle of the belfry, moaning with appreciation at the more and more violent attack of Widowmaker's tongue.

If Lena had died in that moment, she would have gone happily and without another wish in the world. Her heart was beating as fast as it never did before. If something on earth could be close to heaven, this had to be it. Widowmaker smelled wonderful, like fresh flowers in a field right after a heavy rain, and her lips were unexpectedly sweet. Lena could no longer resist the urge, so she let her hands run through Amélie's deep purple hair. It was just like she imagined; the feeling of what had to be liquid silk.

Lena wouldn't have minded if the encounter would have continued forever.

Yet it was over as soon as it had begun.

Widowmaker suddenly pulled away, taking a step back, leaving a heavily breathing Lena leaning into the wall, her face flushed all over, and her knees weak.

Lena needed a moment to realize the assassin looked scared out of her mind. Her beautiful golden eyes were wide open and shock was written all over her face.

What had she done? How could she have done that? Now everything was different, everything changed. She just deliberately turned her own world upside down, completely ignoring the dangers. If Talon found out about this, they'll turn her against Tracer quicker than you can say Jesus Christ. They'll force her to kill the beautiful Brit before they'll tear her mind apart once again.

 _Non, non, non, Putain de merde, this is not really happening now!_ She should never have come to this place in the first place!

"What's wrong, luv?" Lena wanted to know silently, her face showing her confusion.

"I-I'm sorry, _ma chérie_ " Widowmaker whispered. "I'm sorry" she repeated. This just didn't happen! She didn't just allow this to happen?! Why, why, why did she?! Why did she get caught up in a moment? This had never happened before! Holy shit, Amèlie felt so much; all at the same time, and it all felt so good.

But the better it felt the more dangerous it got for both of them. This couldn't be. It was absolutely impossible! Oh god, she wouldn't only lose everything at the next scheduled mental reset. That wasn't seriously happening now, was it? Maybe it wasn't too late yet? Maybe she could still get out of it? "I have to go" she said, turning to leave.

"Amélie!" Tracer called, reaching out for her hand to stop the beautiful woman from leaving. Her hand firmly grasped the other one's, fingers interlacing with each other. "Don't go now!" she pleaded.

The French name was floating heavily in the air, like it had its own echo.

Amélie! Amélie _...amélie_. Widowmaker couldn't believe her own ears as she heard this foreign name, a name she didn't recognize, but which felt oddly familiar. For a moment she was confused, but then there rushed a sharp pain in her head, like someone had stuck a thin needle into her brain. A brief moment passed and suddenly a wave of short blurry images and distorted visions flashed into her mind. Widowmaker had no feeling of time and the voices were muffled, but she felt like remembering something long forgotten.

Gleeful laughter. _Her own. She hadn't laughed since Talon_

An elder couple smiling at her. _Her parents. She didn't recognize them_

A man in an expensive grey suit in front of an altar. _Gerard, her husband. She had long forgotten his face_

The elder couple again, telling her they were proud. _She barely heard them talk_

The man kissing her. _It felt like someone else_

A dark room. Her head being drilled open. Horrible pain. A forlorn scream.

 _Amélie!_ It used to be her name. She didn't remember.

Widowmaker squeezed her eyes shut for a second and looked away. The images whirled up in white dust, taking the stinging pain in her head with them. And when she opened her eyes again, she felt like something important had been in reach for her to grasp, but the opportunity had already passed by. Instead her eyes peered into warm brown, a concerned one sided smile brought her back into the here and now.

"Luv?" Tracer asked, her voice heavy with worry. Widowmaker looked heartbroken, and not only that, she generally looked broken. Her golden eyes had suddenly lost their spark as she seemed to realize just how much was taken away from her.

"I don't remember Amélie anymore" she whispered bitterly, as a cruel reality dawned on her. "They erased her out of my head. Just like they are going to erase you" Amélie said, not wanting to even think about this.

Lena shook her head in clear disagreement. There was no way she would ever let that happen. "They won't be able to erase me! I will remind you about this every time we meet! You are still Amélie deep inside yourself; I'm sure of it! They just made you forget! I'm sure you'll remember if you have enough time."

Widowmaker laughed a sad laugh "Time is the one thing I don't have, _ma chérie._ I have to go. If I do that now, I might have a chance." She hoped for the program to not recognize a small memory imprint. Maybe, just maybe the software would just miss the detail, like it did before sometimes. Amélie remembered useless bits and pieces from long past times, fragments of things she did long before the first memory-wipe.

She clung to that hope, fully aware that the emotional indicators were far too obvious for the cleaning program to miss. By the time of the next iteration, Widowmaker would have forgotten about Tracer, because one thing was sure: Reaper definitely wouldn't show up out of nowhere again.

"No! No! You don't have to! Let me help you, Amélie!" Lena exclaimed, pleading the beautiful assassin with her eyes. "I can help you" she added in a whisper.

Widowmaker's smile brightened up, as she stepped forward and placed a quick peck on Lena's lips. "You are as sweet as I imagined you would be, _ma chérie_ " she said silently "But for me, all help is too late. Next time we meet, be careful. I am dangerous. I might not remember. I might try to kill you. Don't approach me with your guard down, understand?"

"I..." Tracer felt tears build up in her eyes as a sour knot choked her throat.

"Hush, _ma chérie_ " Widowmaker replied. "Just be careful next time, _oui?_ "

"No!" Tracer exclaimed "Dammit, I won't let you leave now! You can't just watch me for days, kiss me like you want me, and then leave me standing here! I'll go crazy, and when I do, who will remind you of what we shared, when I sit in the loony bin?"

Widowmaker looked sad. It sounded so cruel the way Lena said it. No matter how painful it was to admit it, Amélie knew full well how Tracer must have felt. It wasn't like she didn't _want_ Tracer; quite the contrary. The French assassin would have liked nothing better than to stay with Lena from now on, until the last breath she drew. But the things she _wanted_ and the things she _should_ do, unfortunately, weren't the same.

A quick step forward brought Amélie close to Tracer's face again. For a short moment, she seemed to hesitate before she, once again, kissed the beautiful woman with mesmerizing brown eyes. A long, soft and gentle kiss. "If I could decide, I would stay with you" she whispered. "But I can't decide. Talon would come for me...and they would find me. They would take me back and kill you. Or even worse, they'd turn you into another version of me. I don't want that to happen, _ma chérie_. I don't want anything to happen to you. Which is why I have to go." Amélie smiled as supportively as she could, looking into Tracer's hurting eyes. This was necessary, the assassin knew it, yet why did it have to feel so brutally cruel?

"Next time I see you, don't you dare not remember me! You hear me? If you do, I'll make you!" Lena replied bitterly, her voice hurting while speaking. A sour knot in Lena's throat was dangerously close to suffocating her. Lena tried as best as she could to not start crying, but she failed miserably. Why was the world so cruel? Just _some_ time longer with Amélie was hardly much to ask for, wasn't it? So why did things have to end now of all times?

"Now I, at least, have some motivation" Widowmaker smiled, pronouncing the last word with a heavy French accent. Carefully retrieving her hand out of Lena's grasp, Amélie reached up to Tracer's face, gently wiping away the heavy tears which started to fall down those freckled cheeks. They were turning her beautiful hazel eyes slightly red. "No need to be sad, _chérie_ " Amélie said, "just promise me you'll be careful, _S'il vous plaît_."

"I promise, luv. I promise" Lena sniffled, still trying not to break down crying like a little girl, and still not winning.

" _Merci beaucoup, ma chouchoute_ " the french assassin replied sounding both relieved as well as thankful. Taking a step back, Widowmaker kicked her rifle up from the floor and caught it with a precise move. She kissed her hand and blew the sign of affection toward Tracer while the assassin dropped out of the belfry.

Lena raced to the edge, but Widowmaker was already gone, and with her she had taken Oxton's heart.

Why did it have to happen this way?

Why?

-/-

**Watchpoint Gibraltar: Overwatch headquarters, at the same time.**

Jack Morrison was sitting in his office staring at the screen in front of him. If there was one thing he had found out since the first day of Overwatch, it would have been this: He hated paperwork. Every single aspect of it disgusted him. The fact that you had to sit down and write things together when there also were video-files to watch wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was the unnerving bureaucracy. That had always driven him nuts. The agent in the field _always_ had to make a choice. It was _their_ life they put in line, so _they_ called the decisions. And out of ten times, nine decisions were perfectly fine to everyone.

It was that one time which got Morrison so worked up and the fact of how things were taken for granted by society.

Say a well trained soldier throws himself onto a grenade out of reflex to protect innocent civilians, sacrificing himself in the process. That soldier loses his life in that moment, yet no one seems to care. It is expected.

But have the very same soldier instinctively shoot a civilian because he figured that person a threat, ohhh the shitstorm.

Morrison was disgusted with these antics. He really was. All they did was impose on good soldiers. They didn't get work done and they didn't help anyone. They just obstructed important missions. Nothing else.

Luckily, the ringing of his phone stopped him from growing more angry. He grabbed the receiver and held it to his ear. "Yeah?" he asked, not bothering with his name. Only very few people had this number.

A deep voice said something, causing a heavy frown on Jack's face.

"I told you already, don't call me here, you moron!" he hissed, followed by more talking on the other side. The voice really was unnaturally deep.

"Yes, I know." a long pause, followed by concentrated thinking.

"No, that's no problem." More listening

"Alright, I will disable the outer security systems for your operation tomorrow. That is all I can do, or the monkey will notice. He will have minimal forecast lead time, but it is time nonetheless. So strike hard and fast."

The reply sounded a lot like a growled "good" followed by unintelligible mumbling.

"No. As discussed, I sent everyone else away on missions or vacation. You'll have the house to yourself and your Talon friends. The monkey will be here, though. So take that into consideration."

A deep chuckle followed by a question sounded through the phone.

"What? Fuck it, just disable Athena if you have to. No one cares." Jack said with a nod. "Good luck" he said, tossing the receiver back in place.

With a sly grin on his face, he turned back to his paperwork.

Another step was done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to support the story (which I'm not saying would be amazing, but it would kinda be amazing, you know?), you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction
> 
> (Please remember that I am not aksing you to donate. Only if you want to)


	7. Surprise Visits

**London. Apartment of Lena Oxton. The next day, late afternoon.**

Bubbles were rising through the clear water to the top, fast and in higher numbers than Lena could have possibly counted. They violently exploded on the furiously trembling surface, making loud splashing noises. Down below the unsteady surface, numerous long yellow strings were twitching back and forth whenever a hot bubble formed on the metal ground before it quickly rose through the water. It was a strange spectacle of normality, magnificent in its simplicity and yet of such significance.

Tracer stared into her pot of boiling noodles like it was a whole universe. She hadn't eaten the entire day and now she completely zoned out. Replaying the kiss she shared with Amélie the day before over and over and over again in her head almost drove her nuts. Being alone right now felt like torture, but it couldn't be helped.

Lena had called Angela some time before, but her best friend apparently wasn't at home, and her mobile was only answered by the mailbox. She would have really liked to talk to Mercy right now; if only to take her mind off Widowmaker. Of course, it would have been even better if she could have somehow reached out for Amélie, but that, unfortunately, was impossible. So, since the only two people Tracer would have wanted to talk to weren't available, she had decided to stay in bed all day long, curled up in her blanket until hunger drove her out.

And now Tracer was cooking noodles. Or better yet, watched as the noodles cooked. She really didn't do a lot apart from putting them into the water. Somewhere in her head a voice reminded her that she would need some kind of sauce, or really anything, to eat alongside the noodles, but Tracer didn't care.

It wasn't like Lena was in a bad mood. Not at all. Her mind was just stuck in the previous day. During her long day alone in bed, Lena had done nothing else apart from thinking about _her._ It took Tracer some time, but she carefully recalled each and every last encounter with Widowmaker, and tried to figure out how her feelings developed. After some hours, Lena realized that she hadn't felt like this in a very, very long time.

A really, really long time.

Tracer had been truly in love only once before in her life. It was a girl named Rias, a classmate of Lena back when she was still young. It was said girl who made Lena realize she liked women, it was the girl who kept her awake at night for the first time ever and it was the girl who made her heart ache with desire stronger and more painful the longer Lena was separated from her.

Lena's childhood crush never reciprocated her feelings.

It left the young Brit devastated. She had joined the military at sixteen just to get away from her hometown; from the people who reminded her about the days she had been in love, and from the woman herself.

It worked. Lena's feelings for Rias faded away. She forgot until Rias was but a distant memory. A good one, but a memory nonetheless. Lena had a demanding job at the royal air-force which was keeping her busy, and of course over the course of so ten years there had been a selected few other girls, who were more than happy to be with Tracer and whom she allowed to be with her. She moved forward through life, growing together with different lovers and growing apart over time again, but no matter what, no one could compare to Rias. No matter how much time passed, no matter how close she was to her girlfriends, not one could evoke the same kind of fire in Lena's heart as Rias had done before.

No other girl managed to make Lena Oxton fall in love. _Truly_ fall in love. Until yesterday, when a strange French girl took hold of Lena's face and kissed her lips ever so tenderly, igniting that long dead flame with unparalleled energy once again. And now a strong fire was burning for Amélie deep inside Tracer's heart. She was in love for the second time in her life.

Oh, how she wished for Amélie to be here with her now. They could cook and enjoy dinner together in Lena's peaceful little apartment, pretending the world was normal. Lena would hold Widow close and never let her go again. She would hold her tightly and she would tell her how much she needs her; how much she _loves_ her.

But that was impossible.

Unfortunately.

A bright smile tugged on her lips as Lena imagined how their next encounter could possibly look like. Maybe during sunset? On a rooftop far, far away? With a lot of time and nowhere for Widowmaker to run off to? She would see to it that Amélie wouldn't _want_ to leave, even if she could. Oh, the things Lena wanted to do with her.

 _Paradise_. _Naked hot skin pressed on cold naked skin. Hot touches. Silent whispers of affection and soft kisses full of desire. Her hand gliding down Amélie's neck and slipping inside that tight suit of hers, carefully grasping the soft flesh underneath, her other hand tracing up fine lines along Widowmaker's thigh while her fingers gliding under the suit to carefully tend to the hardened..._

A loud ring of the doorbell pulled Lena out of her daydreaming. She shook her head to get her mind out of the gutter, forgetting to turn down the heat of the stove. Walking to the front door, Tracer unlocked and opened it to check who was visiting.

As if the bright blonde mane wouldn't have been a dead giveaway already, the deep blue eyes and a happy smile definitely were. "Surprise, _Süße_!" Mercy said happily holding a bottle of fine red wine "Girls night today. What do you think?"

Lena couldn't help but grin like an idiot.

The irony in this visit.

Now it was rather clear why Tracer had such difficulties reaching her best friend. This really was a surprise, and a rather welcome one as well. Angela's company was exactly the kind of thing Lena needed right now since the woman she wanted to be with so badly obviously would not show up.

"Oy, you are wearing way too much for a girls night with me, luv" Lena replied with a bright smile, stepping aside to let Mercy into her apartment. The Swiss doctor was wearing a short cut, light brown summer trench coat, black pants, and matching heels.

Angela shook her head in amusement. "Careful, one day I might actually play along just to see what you do" Mercy replied with a smirk as she walked into the flat. She set the wine onto the cupboard in the vestibule, noticing that someone wrote onto the mirror right above it using red lipstick. Someone French. _Interesting..._

"Well, I obviously would take you straight to bed, no questions asked" Lena replied with a giggle, taking Mercy's coat from her and hanging it on a hanger.

Angela nodded toward the mirror. "Why do I get the feeling that someone else would ask, though? _Süße_ , you are such a _player_ " Angela teased, suppressing a laugh. Lena was turning a little red as she looked at the note left on the mirror. To her eternal luck, her best friend had no way of knowing who wrote that message. But the mere thought of the person who did leave those lines behind for her sent a shiver through Lena. Where could Widowmaker be right now? Somewhere out there, alone and possibly in danger? Tracer didn't want to think about it further. She wanted her to be here in safety and not somewhere out there doing God knows what.

"You got me on that one" Lena replied, trying to pretend like it was no big deal. She didn't want to imagine the lecture Angela would give her should she find out who the person of her desire really was. She also didn't want to imagine how many different things could possibly go wrong in their line of work. It wasn't like Widowmaker and Tracer were so terribly different in that regard. They both were field agents; just for different sides.

It was pure madness even thinking about it.

So, Tracer tried to sound like everything was fine, pretending her world was totally the way it always had been just with the added bonus of a random French girl she fancied; not that _anything_ could have been _strange_ about said woman. Not at all.

Mercy must never know.

"Tell me everyth-" Angela stopped herself from talking further, as she inhaled deeply, smelling the air. "Does something here smell a little... odd?" she asked with a slightly confused frown. She really was interested in the story behind the message on the mirror. Mercy wasn't stupid by any stretch of the imagination. Hell, she invented technology to revive the dead, so she was very well capable of making the connection between the lipstick-lines and Tracer's phone call two weeks ago. Yet the strange smell in the air forced her to stop that line of thinking in favor of a more pressing one.

It did smell like something was burning.

Lena tore her eyes wide open in shock "The nooooodles!" she exclaimed loudly, blinking away into the kitchen. All Angela saw was the blurry blue line of Tracer's time harness while she whooshed off. Some metal rattled, and Lena screamed loudly before she suddenly reappeared right next to Mercy in a blue glowing bubble. The beautiful Brit quickly checked her hands and sighed in relief.

"You touched the pot, didn't you?" Angela stated without looking. It was rather obvious.

Of course Lena touched the boiling hot metal pot with her bare hands. Of course she got burned badly. Of course she had to reverse her own time to undo the damage. And of course she denied it. "...No?" Lena lied badly, rubbing her thumbs.

Angela sighed, shaking her head "Sometimes I really wonder what God put in between your ears" she stated flatly.

"Oy, don't be mean to me, luv!" Lena complained. "I panicked" she said, looking cutely at her best friend. Large puppy eyes have always been the best weapon against Mercy.

"You never had a hand for cooking" Angela laughed " _Komm,_ I'll help you"

Helping Lena cook actually ended up with Mercy not just helping, but doing all the cooking. When she saw that her best friend hadn't even thought about some kind of gravy for the noodles, Mercy decided that Lena's help would be rather useless today. So, she sat her down at the little table in Lena's combined kitchen and dining room, poured her a glass of the wine she brought along and told her to not get up until dinner was done.

"Why are you here, luv?" Lena asked, taking a sip from the wine. "Shouldn't you be on duty?"

"Morrison kicked me out; said my holidays are overdue" Mercy replied with a shrug, adding some spices to a deliciously smelling red gravy, which the doctor magically created out of nothing. Lena had no idea she had so many ingredients at home, but apparently Mercy knew her cupboards better than she knew them herself.

"So you thought to yourself, oy, I got vacation, let's go and grate on Tracer" Lena smirked mischievously. Slowly turning around, Mercy shot her a deadly stare while her hand searched for something on the kitchen-counter.

"Don't you dare think I wouldn't check on you after you called me because of that gun wound" she accused loudly, suddenly tossing the kitchen-rag into Lena's face. "Today is literally the first opportunity I got to get out of HQ and here I am. I was worried, ok?"

"I was joking, luv." Lena giggled, rising her hands in defeat. There was no way she'd ever win such an argument with Angela. "You know I always enjoy your company. You don't need a reason to stop by."

"I better hope I don't, _Süße_ " Mercy jested, turning her attention back to preparing dinner. She had done this so many times, cooking a meal in what was technically a foreign kitchen didn't feel weird in the slightest anymore. Angela knew the place like it was her own.

"I'm really glad you helped out when you did" Lena said, suddenly very serious. She rubbed her hands together, looking completely lost the way she was almost hiding behind the table and her glass of wine. If it hadn't been for Mercy, heaven forbid, Amélie wouldn't have made it.

Angela bit her bottom lip while she was stirring the sauce "It was the girl you like so much, wasn't it?" she asked. "The one who got shot"

When Lena didn't answer, Mercy turned around to see her best friend staring blankly into her glass of wine. The smile on her lips was gone and she hugged herself like she was cold. Well, maybe she really was. Lena hardly wore much to begin with. A cropped grey shirt and some _very_ skimpy red shorts was all. But Angela doubted it; her best friend wasn't cold.

Something was bothering her.

"Lena?" Angela asked, turning the heat of the stove low, before she walked over to her best friend and crouched down at her side. "What's wrong, _Süße_?" she asked, reaching for Lena's face and turning it toward her. Seeing glazed brown eyes on the verge of crying sent an anxious shiver through the Swiss doctor.

"I..." Lena croaked. She didn't know what to do, the weight on her heart was becoming unbearable. There wasn't a single fiber left in her body not yearning for Widowmaker. She wanted to scream, but knew she couldn't. She wanted to tell Angela everything, but knew it was impossible. And now Mercy brought up that one night in which Amélie was almost taken from her. She saw the gorgeous French girl lying in her bed, bleeding badly, her breathing shallow and her pulse slow. And Lena knew she would never want to see that again. If she ever wanted one thing, it would be safety for Widowmaker.

But that was not within her possibilities to decide. The assassin had to go, leaving Lena behind in a state of almost painful desire. The memory of those cold, sweet lips on their own made her dizzy.

"I love her" Lena whispered, before she felt gentle arms reaching up to her. Mercy pulled her off the chair and into a caring hug. "I don't want to lose her" Tracer added with trembling voice.

"Lena, why didn't you bring her to a hospital?" Angela asked seriously. So many questions were left unanswered, and Angela knew better than to drill any deeper, but she needed to know at least _something._

"She..." Tracer hesitated, not knowing what to do. _God damn it, I need to talk to someone or I'm going to go insane!_ "She has some legal trouble. It's not her fault, it's just... difficult for her at the moment" for a while Lena was silent, letting herself be calmed by her best friend. But then another wave of anxiety washed over her and she tightened her grip around Mercy.

"God, Angela. She's out there all alone, doing God knows what. I'm so worried!"

"There is nothing you can do about that now, is there, _Süße?_ "

Lena shook her head "No..."

"See? So you don't have to worry so much. I'm sure she will come back to you" Mercy said with a bright smile on her lips. She was well aware that now wasn't the time to broach her concerns regarding the other woman. Tracer had different things on her mind right now. There would be another opportunity, to ask if Tracer was sure a relationship with a criminal would be a good idea. Whoever it was. Hopefully no one too bad.

"You should eat something. The world will look a lot better with a full stomach" Mercy said supportively, letting go of Lena. "I wonder how you survived the last two weeks like that" she said with the faintest hint of humor hidden underneath her supportive smile.

"I saw her yesterday" Lena admitted, avoiding Angela's gaze as if the doctor would somehow be able to read the identity of Tracer's crush right off the back of her eyes.

"Oh, really? What happened?" Mercy asked gently. She had never seen Lena this sensitive before. The way she was huddled on that chair, she looked almost squeamish.

Tracer blushed in a light shade of red as she recalled the events of the day before.

The belfry. A soft and warm wind brushing though her hair, carrying the sweet scent of Widowmaker into her nose. And then the touch of Amélie's cold lips, just as gentle as the soft wind, on her own. The spark of desire. The electric excitement.

"She kissed me" Lena admitted, nibbling on the nail of her right thumb. "And then she left me." She added with such definitiveness, sending a cold and very uncomfortable shudder running up and down Angela's spine.

And suddenly, the blue eyed doctor understood.

-/-

**Safe house in London, around the same time**

The dark world outside the window wasn't aware of her presence. Not the people in the apartments on the other side of the road, not the ones walking on the sidewalks down below, and not her neighbors. No one knew she was here, and no one had seen her arrive. Widowmaker was alone in this world. She was a shadow, gliding from one dark corner to the next. Unseen, unheard, and unnoticed.

It had always been this way. Or at least for as long as Widowmaker remembered. Loneliness had always been her friend. Loneliness didn't ask bothersome questions. It didn't mean to assume things about you, and it didn't talk you into things you didn't want to do. Being alone ensured her work was done properly and professionally. There never had been even a moment when Widowmaker desired to _not_ be alone anymore.

But that had changed. She was growing increasingly weary of her life in solitude and confinement; of her Talon imposed isolation and of scurrying from shadow to shadow all on her own.

Alone. It felt bothersome. Over the course of the last few weeks it started to annoy her.

Widowmaker knew full well why that was. Her sudden longing for company was all Tracer's fault. If she hadn't gotten so close to her, if she hadn't picked her up in the street, and if she hadn't... But Tracer had. And now Widowmaker couldn't help but yearn for change. She wanted to escape her life in the shadows so badly. She wanted to walk openly in the sunshine for all the world to see and with Tracer at her side. The desire was almost painful.

But it was a fantasy. A fantasy of a foolish little girl, and one Widowmaker knew would never become reality. She was well aware of the different worlds they lived in, and while it was true that their line of work crossed paths from time to time, Widow was smart enough to know that what she desired so badly would never work. It was probably even better if it didn't since it would keep Tracer safe. But that thought didn't really help Amélie cool down.

Drumming her slender fingers on the tiny table in the small attic serving as safe haven in London, Widowmaker looked out of the drafty window, observing the people outside. They were completely oblivious to the deadly threat above their heads, watching them, all going about their lives, like little ants, stubbornly following one another. It was pathetic. It was boring. They all were meaningless.

The only person Widowmaker didn't think of as meaningless was the one she left alone in the belfry yesterday.

It had been a horrible decision.

No matter how much Amélie rationally knew it had been the right call, her heart told her that she had been stupid beyond measure.

_I left because I thought I would then remember. Who am I kidding? I will not remember._

It was impossible. She was way too emotionally invested. Hell, she imagined what a normal life with Tracer would look like. She dreamed about holidays together and about quiet evenings on a rainy day on a couch, safely held in Tracer's warm arms.

Tracer had become the most important memory Widowmaker ever possessed. And the cleaning program would wipe the memory of her away for good the next time Amélie was scheduled, erasing all her longing for a normal life, for love, and for freedom, just to leave a hollow shell behind. A shell devoid of emotions and with the sole purpose of killing. Tracer would be an enemy again, the feelings about her forgotten.

It was inevitable.

Widowmaker knew it.

So why didn't she spend as much time as possible with her now that she still had the chance? If she would forget anyway, why not make the most of the time they _could_ have together?

Widowmaker didn't know, and she hated herself for it.

Even thinking about Tracer made her feel a lot warmer already, so how much warmer would she feel touching her again? Feeling those sweet, hot lips pressed to hers like there was no tomorrow? Relishing in the touch of her warm hands, roaming freely over her body, feeling the amazing burn it left on her cold skin?

She needed to see Tracer again.

Now.

Widowmaker jumped off the fragile old wooden chair in the attic, grabbed her stuff, and was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to support the story, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction
> 
> Yes, I am copy-catting this, because I've spent all my creativity on the story and I am adding this tipeee-thingy 2 years after the story first started. At a time when I had no idea this crap would be remotely successful.


	8. Misunderstandings

The rooftops were lonely and abandoned, just like always. Widowmaker was so used to travelling through a city like this she did it without a second thought. True, it hardly was considered a normal means of transportation, but she didn't care.

The rooftops allowed her to run a straight beeline toward Tracer. She hadn't thought this through at all. Amélie literally just jumped up and left the hideout. She didn't prepare anything. She was still wearing her skin tight bodysuit, not having bothered with changing into something more... adequate.

Rooftops not only provided a tactical advantage and the possibility of moving unnoticed, they also provided an inexplicable feeling of safety for Widow; which was most likely because she always had the rooftops for herself.

Down on the crowded streets of London she was exposed to the prying eyes and impertinent stares of all those around her. Widowmaker understood; they all had never seen someone with blue skin, purple hair, and golden eyes. She was something exotic; something foreign. Most of the gawkers thought she was even some kind of freak. Rationally, Widowmaker understood that. But it still bothered her. It wasn't like she cared what others thought about her, quite the contrary, she literally could not care less about it.

It was more the staring itself, and the attention which came along with it, which unnerved her so much. Attention meant someone saw her. Someone seeing her meant a witness, and witnesses were always a bad idea in her line of work. Especially when carrying a huge, conspicuous sniper-rifle around for all the world to see. If Widowmaker wouldn't be required to be an unseen shadow in the night, she would have walked down any street without any hesitation. She didn't give a fuck who thought what about her and what opinions other people had. Right now there was only one person whose opinion wasn't irrelevant.

Tracer would be the only one looking at her today, and no matter how annoyed Amélie usually was when people stared at her, the thought of Tracer doing just that made excitement boil up in her heart. Not that Widowmaker understood the appealing aspects of her own body. She never got why people always looked at her with lecherous eyes. Her body was a weapon, honed to complete one task perfectly.

And that task was plain and brutal killing, simple as that. Widowmaker's body wasn't meant to look good, it wasn't built to draw attention and it sure as fuck wasn't designed to seduce. But when she thought back to the way Tracer looked at her, the glistering in her eyes as if she had found the most beautiful treasure in the world, Widow couldn't help and think that maybe there was something worthy of the word beauty to her body. At least Tracer seemed to think so. And as long as she did, everyone else could go to hell.

She would only allow Tracer to look at her like that; like she was _human_ , worthy of being desired. To everyone else, she was a weapon, and she would not hesitate to remind them of this fact.

The gaps between the different apartment blocks were easily overcome with the help of Widowmaker's grappling-hook as she raced towards her destination. It wasn't far anymore; just a couple of blocks and some streets, no big deal. Widowmaker remembered perfectly where she needed to go to find Lena's place. Her memory was impeccable, even if she had only been there once before. It didn't matter.

A few minutes later, Amélie rappelled down the house opposite of Tracer's apartment. Crossing the street with fast steps she was standing in front of a heavy wooden door. The old gate painted in a dark shade of green, a golden panel on the wall next to it, containing multiple different doorbells with name tags right next to it.

Amélie hesitated as she noticed something crucial. She didn't know Tracer's real name. All she had was that stupid call sign of hers, written on those impossibly tight leggings. Up until now it had been enough for Widowmaker. That did change rather quickly when Amélie wanted to ring a doorbell.

But which one?

Where exactly was she supposed to ring? Only one of those countless doorbells incorporated in their golden housing would lead Amélie to the person she wanted to see right now.

The French assassin wasted a quick thought. Why hadn't she asked Tracer for her real name? There wasn't really a moment in which it seemed appropriate to do so. Amélie wrote it down on her mental list of things she had to do.

Still, the problem was the same. She didn't know where to ring. And Widowmaker _really_ didn't want to try out her luck, starting somewhere and working her way through. It would have worked, sure, but it still seemed like an extra stupid thing to do. Talk about witnesses. Catching herself thinking about this like it was an assassination, Widowmaker squeezed her eyes shut and inhaled deeply. This was no mission; it wouldn't matter if people knew she was here. Or would it? Was there a better way?

Sighing, she stepped away from the door. Well, there really was only one option left for her if she didn't want to ring at every door. Reaching for her grappling-hook Widowmaker aimed for the little balcony in front of Tracer's flat before she fired the rope toward the stone railing. Testing the strength of the connection and being content with it, Amélie lifted herself into the air, upwards toward Tracer's balcony. It fitted her style as a stealthy assassin better anyway.

Gracefully pulling her flexible body over the railing, Widowmaker silently arrived on the outside of the place Tracer lived in most of the time. With undeniable excitement, Amélie peered through the large glass double door into what had to be Tracer's living-room. There was a comfortable couch with the back toward the window and a television in front of it. To its right there was a door leading to a different room and a bookshelf filled to the brim with various different editions of just as many oeuvres covering the entire wall next to the door. Opposite to the shelf was a wooden desk with a standard console-interface on top of it and a leather office chair a little displaced in front of it. Both the desk as well as the bookshelf weren't exactly neatly cleaned up. The desk had paperwork and different files scattered all over it, while the bookshelf was basically overflowing with books and magazines.

Widowmaker of course wasn't the least bit interested in the furniture, her eyes were fixed to the person sitting on Tracer's couch. That chocolate brown, unruly hair, which could only belong to one person. Even seeing her from the back made Amélie shiver in excitement. She swallowed heavily, extending her hand to knock on the glass door so she could catch Tracer's attention. But in the very same moment when her knuckles were about to touch the glass, the door inside the room opened unexpectedly. She quickly jerked her hand back, tensely staring inside. With eyes open wide and her slow heart beating almost painfully hard in her chest, Widowmaker could only wait and watch.

Tracer wasn't alone?

The tension building up inside Widowmaker's fragile soul was starting to slowly tear it apart as she had to witness a drop-dead gorgeous blonde with eyes as blue as arctic ice and legs longer than the golden gate bridge walk into Tracer's living room. The stranger was wearing an old shirt with a washed out imprint of the royal air-force on it. The aged fabric seemed to be a little too small for her ample breasts as it hugged her pale skin tightly and didn't cover her slender stomach completely. A blind man could have seen that this wasn't the blonde's shirt, but very much Tracer's.

A moment of silent confusion passed before realization dawned on Amélie.

Widowmaker felt like someone stabbed her through her heart from the back with a dagger dipped in acid as she witnessed how that unknown blonde walked over to the couch, carrying two glasses of wine, and sat down next to Tracer, handing one glass over. That alone wasn't the worst part; what really made Amélie feel like someone violently grabbed what was left of her soul and ripped into shreds was how Tracer didn't hesitate to slide closer to the other woman. She shamelessly rested her head on the blonde's shoulder like she had done it a thousand times, cuddling closer to the other woman while the blonde ruffled through Tracer's thick brown air with an affectionate smile on her lips.

That was...

_They are... I'm... I... Why?_

Widowmaker was left speechless, staring blankly through the window, unable to understand what was going on.

The first and only person Widowmaker grew not only to desire beyond imagination, but also to trust more than anyone else was now cuddling with another girl, destroying so much hope inside Widow's heart.

Amélie's eyes burnt from looking. She felt so _used._ So _worthless_ all of a sudden. How could Tracer!? She trusted her! She had honestly thought that maybe, just maybe the bubbly Brit could be worth the trouble; that she could really be the one who would eventually help her. Really help her, not just pretend to do so.

Tracer had been the only person Widowmaker considered opening up to. Someone she really wanted to be closer to. Someone who resurrected her desire for a _normal_ life; for a life outside Talon.

And now Widowmaker felt exactly like that foolish little girl she promised to never be again. Betrayed, used, and walked all over one more time. It hurt so bad she had a hard time breathing as an invisible cord strangled her throat without any mercy. Looking through that window was more painful than anything Talon ever did to her. Her hopes and dreams were violently crushed, the fragile young little red rose which was her desire for freedom and happiness, trampled to death by a huge boot. She felt like worthless dirt.

Amélie's lips trembled as she bit down on her tongue as hard as possible just to stop herself from crying out loud. If she had brought along her rifle, she would have shot someone. Most likely herself.

She was such an idiot.

How could she assume anything else would happen? Why did she get her hopes up? It was stupid.

Tracer was an attractive woman, outgoing, smart, and _very_ desirable. How could Widowmaker think she'd wait for someone like _her?_ A broken toy, an emotionless weapon, someone who would need _lots_ of repairing before she could function rudimentarily normal. Who was willing to choose someone like her, when they had options like... like the blonde currently enjoying Tracers attention?

 _That... that traitorous dyke!_ Widow wanted to hiss internally, but no matter how much she wanted to curse Tracer in that moment, she found herself unable to do so.

She really couldn't. The more Widowmaker thought about it, the more everything made sense. Why would Tracer legitimately want to be with someone like _her_? On a whim, understandably, maybe in the heat of the moment. But rationally? Actually being _with_ someone as in _serious relationship_?

Hell, she wouldn't want to be with herself if she'd have the choice. So, there really was no point in expecting this from someone else. Widowmaker knew she meant nothing but trouble; especially to date her.

Besides, it had been her who left Tracer in that belfry all on her own, telling her it was better this way. Widowmaker realized how stupid she had been as she turned around on the balcony.

She needed to get out of here.

Apparently her way of life truly had been better in the past. The loneliness really was her friend. There was no point in wanting someone to walk that path down together with her. It would only mean pain and misery for them. Widowmaker wasn't _made_ to live a normal life like Amélie could have. Widow's fate was sealed to the shadows; it always had been, and it always would be. She just had forgotten about it.

Amélie didn't hate Tracer for what she saw. It was a valuable lesson.

But the pain the Brit left in Widowmaker's chest was too much for her to bear. Maybe it was her own fault? Maybe she shouldn't have left Tracer alone in that belfry the other day? Maybe she should have made her interest in the Brit clear from the beginning? Maybe she...

Widowmaker stopped herself. This didn't lead anywhere. She didn't do any of those things. And now she had obviously lost the one thing she remembered ever desiring. _Tracer._

Looking back over her shoulder one more time, Amélie convinced herself that the Brit she cared for so much seemed happy.

She did.

The closeness she seemed to share with the blonde would be something Tracer and Widow would have never achieved. That blonde girl, whoever she was, would take good care of Tracer.

Widowmaker hoped she would.

It was only a poor consolation for the all numbing pain in her chest and for the feeling of betrayal and loneliness spreading through her soul like an ice cold wind once again. She felt dead inside; more than ever before.

Widowmaker reached for the rope on the balcony and dropped down towards the street, her limbs heavy and her mind occupied by sad thoughts. She knew that she lacked the concentration to jump rooftops right now.

So, she chose the streets, not bothering with the other pedestrians. They all were irrelevant. As fast as her dull world turned into the brightest colors with Tracer suddenly appearing, it turned back to black and white with her leaving again. Nothing really seemed to be of importance. Nothing was meaningful enough to care about.

Disconnected from reality, Widowmaker's numb and heavy legs carried her through the crowded streets of London, almost on their own, while her mind was spinning around the events she had witnessed.

_Tracer on her couch._

_The blonde beauty coming in, wearing Tracer's shirt._

_Tracer cuddling closer to her._

Amélie squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, to force those images out of her head.

One thing was sure. There was no way she would want to walk around with memories about this day for even a minute longer than strictly necessary. What was the point in that? She had seen it, and no matter how painful, it was over before it even started.

It tore her apart piece by piece. All the excitement, the affection, desire of the last two weeks, and especially the fond memories of the day before turned into pain and suffering, a sweet fruit suddenly turning sour. Widowmaker didn't want to remember any of this anymore. It hurt so bad she could barely breath. How was she supposed to do her job properly now? How? She wanted to forget so badly. She wanted to undo all those feelings of hope which foolishly started to grow in her heart and had turned into sharp thorns tormenting it now.

Amélie had no experience with these kind of feelings; at least none she remembered. The only person capable of balancing her soul was also the one who threw it into turmoil. And now she was gone. It would have been better if Tracer never stepped into her life, it would have been better if she never allowed herself to indulge in herself in that fugacious feeling of happiness Tracer brought her.

There really was no point remembering the bubbly Brit who came so close to Amélie's heart any longer. It would only hurt Widowmaker further.

It was the first time that the assassin was glad she had options to forget.

Tracer would most likely have forgotten about Widow soon enough, but the assassin was sure that she would never be able to truly forget the enchanting girl. Not on her own, at least. She reached for the communicator hidden inside her wristband, pressing a speed-dial button.

It didn't take long for someone on the other end of the line to pick up.

"Job is done. Target dead. Requesting pickup" Widowmaker said, steadying her voice to the best of her ability "There were some complications. I need an appointment with the doctor. Guess my last memory- reset didn't work properly."

"Understood. Pickup at RV blue in two hours. Your appointment will be arranged" the just as emotionless as bodiless voice said before the line was dead again.

Amélie sighed heavily, noticing just now how many people were looking at her as she walked past them. A part of her regretted that she didn't bother changing into something more presentable than her skin tight bodysuit before she left the safe house. Or not having brought her rifle, which was probably the reason people dared to stare blankly at the pale-blue skinned woman walking down the street with such unparalleled grace, carrying her body like only a ballet-dancer should be able to.

The assassin ignored the people looking at her, like she was some kind of circus attraction. There were more important matters on her mind right now for this to bother her. If they wanted to look, so be it. The opinion of all those people meant nothing to Amélie. She didn't care what they thought, she didn't care what they whispered in each other's ears, she didn't care that they covered the eyes of their children with their hands.

There was only one thing in Widowmaker's mind right now, and that was getting away from Tracer's apartment. Nothing else mattered. And then, hopefully, she would be allowed to forget about the only person whose opinion had mattered to Widow. Who she _wanted_ stare at her with that lively spark in her brown eyes, filled with desire.

It wasn't meant to be.

Thinking about what she'd do for the next two hours until someone from Talon would pick her up, Widowmaker stopped at a red light and waited for it to turn again, just like everybody else at the street corner.

At first she didn't notice the middle aged man in a dark business suit standing next to her and perving on her like she was a piece of willing young flesh. Widowmaker ignored it for a moment. Then for another one and one more, hoping the pedestrian lights would turn green soon. But they didn't, and so Widwomaker just boiled over.

"Can I help you?" she hissed with venom dripping from her voice as she shot the man a deadly glance. It should have been a good hint to get lost, but the world was full of idiots.

"How much?" he asked with a disgusting smile, shooting her with a finger-pistol "For the night?"

Widowmaker inhaled sharply, deeply regretting not having brought her rifle right about now. " _Casse-toi, enfoiré_!" She spat in her native language, giving him the ultimate glare of death. Even if this random idiot didn't speak French, which he most likely didn't, Widowmaker's words were understood never the less.

God, she had that incredible desire to _kill_ somebody, and that moron would have done nicely if not for all those annoying little witnesses around her. Lucky him.

"Well, that is a rather _rude_ thing to say to a customer" the creep laughed, his eyes running all over Widowmaker's body.

She hissed air through her teeth and glanced around her surroundings. There weren't a lot of people on the street-corner. An elderly gentleman, way past his nineties with coat and bowler hat and a mother with two children, a boy and a girl, both not older than maybe ten. All three looked at Widowmaker and the guy talking to her. The pensioner seemed like he was about to say something while the mother was trying to divert her children's attention from what was going on.

The business-man didn't notice either one of those things, his lecherous eyes were glued to Amélie.

"C'mon don't be like that, _love_. I pay good money" he said, reaching out for Widow's face.

 _Love. Lov... Luv. Tracer._ How _dared_ he say the words she used?!

How dared _she_ to say these words and not mean them.

Amélie's iris narrowed tightly, as she slapped the man's hand out of the air before it could even come close to her face. Still agitated more than enough from what Widowmaker had seen at Tracer's apartment, this fool trying to get in her pants managed to choose the completely wrong wording.

For a moment Widowmaker pondered her options. She could really use something to make her feel better right now. So why not?

"Ts, ts, ts" Widowmaker shook her head with a dangerous smile on her lips. "No money, no touching, _petit chou_ " she purred with an expertly faked sultry voice.

The expression of slight confusion changing to a anticipating, wide smile on his lips was enough for Widowmaker to know that she had him on the hook. From there on it would be a piece of cake.

"Follow me, _tigre_ " Widowmaker murmured, using her index-finger in a sultry way to beckon the business man to come with her, while she walked a few steps into the direction she came from. The unsuspecting flyfollowed the spider willingly into her deadly web, not knowing what Widowmaker would really do to him.

Definitely not what he was expecting her to do.

A few short minutes later the assassin had lured her prey to the location she had in mind for this. It was a sparsely lit, narrow alley in between two old buildings. The asphalt was totally askew and made up of dozens badly fixed holes in the ground, some of them collecting a badly smelling mixture of different fluids, the origin of which was better left unknown. There was a large metal dumpster right at the entry into the otherwise sordid street, making the entire length of the alley barely visible.

Widowmaker didn't hesitate and reached for the business man's dark blue tie, seductively wrapping it around her hand while leading him into the alley and behind the dumpster. With one of her delicate fingers pressed to his chest in a teasing way she pushed him a few steps back into the wall, her hips swinging temptingly. Her clueless prey didn't suspect a thing as his back made contact with the slightly moist wall and Widowmaker's quick hands slid up his chest and down his arms just for her to grab him at his wrists and raise his arms upwards over his head, pinning them to the wall.

"Now, _petit chou,_ what do you want me to do to you?" Amélie hummed with a heavy French accent, her eyes glowing in the dim light of the alley and her body pressed onto the business man. Playing with her prey was always what Widowmaker enjoyed the most. And this fool had no idea what was really going on.

What a moron.

"Here?" he asked under his breath, quickly looking around the rather disgusting alley. It was hardly a place he really wanted to get naked at. And neither did Widowmaker. But the difference was, where the horny guy was so focused on getting it on with that fascinating, beautiful pale blue woman that he was more than willing to overlook the dirty location, said woman didn't have getting naked in mind for today anyway. Her idea of fun didn't involve undressing; at least not for today.

" _Oui,_ " Widow replied teasingly pressing herself closer to him, already feeling the growing bump in his pants. "Why not?" she asked, internally forcing herself to continue her act for just a little bit longer. She really wanted to get to it already, but knew that the game would only become more fun the longer it was allowed to run.

"It's a little... dirty, don't you think?" he replied, causing Widow to giggle softly. His attention was back to her person immediately.

"Oh this is _parfaitement_ , trust me" she reassured him.

Smiling like a kid at Christmas, the man nodded enthusiastically. If he had known what Widowmaker had truly planned to make him pay for what he said, he would not have been so very excited. But the prey was already _very_ excited. And so was Widowmaker, yet for _completely_ different reasons.

"What do I owe you afterwards, _love_?" he asked with a priggish smile.

There it was again.

_Love._

He pronounced it differently, but that didn't matter to Amélie. She would not allow him to speak that word to her. Widowmaker swallowed her rising impatience down. Only a few more moments until she could spring the trap.

"Mhh" Widow hummed leaning forward, carefully brushing her cheek over his in a way that she barely touched his skin. Her mouth was mere millimeters away from his ears before she purred "Your life" in a whisper, waiting a short moment to let her words sink in, in which she leaned back a little bit. Still holding on to his arms and having them pinned over his head Widowmaker suppressed a giggle as she saw the confused look on his face.

"W-Wha..." he started, but was violently interrupted by Widowmaker suddenly bringing her leg up in a swift motion and letting her knee crash into the man's crotch at full speed. There might have been the sound of a nut bursting.

Quickly Widowmaker let go of the hands and took a step back, while her victim sank to his knees, bending over and trying to shield his now completely crushed balls. He was as pale as a piece of paper and surprisingly didn't make a sound. The pain must have been unbearable.

Widowmaker felt little to no pity with that fool, as she kicked him hard across his face with one of her armored heels. The force of the impact spun him around, letting him crash to the filthy floor with his back in a puddle of unpleasant grease. His nose was broken and bleeding badly, and Widowmaker suspected the moron would have given up by now. But to his credit the little fly tried to escape the spider's web, ignoring the horrible pain in his abdomen and face as he turned around and wanted to crawl away.

Naturally he didn't get very far, before he saw Widowmaker's feet right in front of him. With a satisfied laugh she kicked him into the corner between the wall and the dumpster, slowly coming closer to him. She looked just as deadly as she was sexy, when she gracefully crouched down to his side, grabbing his head with two hands in a gentle yet determined way. She made clear by the way she touched his neck that it would cost her absolutely _no_ effort whatsoever to just snap his neck right here.

"There is only _one_ person in this entire world, who is allowed to call me _luv_ " she hissed, her eyes glowing with murderous intent and a evil one sided smirk creeping over Widowmaker's lips.

She slowly tightened her grip around his neck, feeling that wonderful sensation of being _alive_ while another person would soon not be anymore. For a moment Amélie managed to suppress her lively memories of Tracer in her mind and replace them with a swift impression of how she felt when the bubbly Brit was still a foreigner.

She was no longer. And now this man had to pay because Widow couldn't stand being called _luv_ by anyone else than the woman she could not be with. Because she needed to fill that hole Tracer left in her soul.

Spiders were lonely creatures, weren't they?

All they did all day was lurking in the shadows, waiting for their prey. Alone and hidden in the dark, waiting for their moment to strike. Just like Amélie did. Just like she was taught to do.

And when the fly strayed into the spider's web...

The widow's deadly kiss.

-/-

A little earlier in Lena's apartment, she was sitting on her couch, alone and waiting. There was an embarrassed blush on her cheeks when the door opened and Mercy came into her living-room wearing one of Tracer's shirts and carrying two glasses of wine.

"Sorry..." Lena squeaked with an apologetic smile as Angela shook her head sitting down next to her best friend. She handed her one glass of wine before both were placed on the little table in front of them.

"Don't worry, just don't spill wine all over me again, _Süße_ " Mercy replied with a giggle while Tracer scooted closer to her, the Brit's unruly hair once again tickling her neck when she rested her head on Angela's shoulder.

"You do look very cute in my stuff though, luv" Lena said cheekily.

Angela sighed, ruffling through Tracer's hair while looking in those large brown puppy eyes. Why did she know exactly what was going on inside her best friend's head? "If you dare to word your thoughts, I will never cook dinner for you again" Mercy threatened jestingly.

"Oy, you don't know what I thought!" Lena complained.

"You thought your shirt on me would mark your territory, didn't you?" Angela said like she knew it already. And she did. It wasn't the first time she borrowed a shirt or something from Tracer. And it wouldn't have been the first time Lena commented on it either.

The light rose color on Lena's cheeks got a shade darker. "Maybe I thought that. Maybe I didn't? Who will ever know?" she said with a smirk. Of course Lena thought that. Her stuff on other girls always got her excited. It made her feel like hoisting a flag on something she conquered. Lena, of course, knew that Mercy wearing one of her old air-force shirts didn't mean anything even close to those lines.

Angela was her best friend after all.

But Tracer couldn't help and think about how one of her shirts would look on the pale blue skin of Widowmaker, marking the gorgeous assassin as Lena's territory.

The thought alone got Tracer all flustered.

"You are thinking about her right now, aren't you?" Angela asked suddenly, still looking at Tracer whose eyes lost focus and stared blankly right through Mercy and at the wall behind her.

Lena blinked, shifting her attention back to reality. "Luv, can you read thought? Honestly, you start to scare me."

Angela giggled cutely. "You are an open book to me, _Süße._ You always were. Don't worry about your girl, ok? I am sure everything will work out in the end. You just need to be patient."

-/-

Widowmaker stepped out of the alley, looking relieved.

She was alone.

And while she walked away, Widowmaker noticed a short, one sided smirk flashing over her face, before it vanished again.

Today had been the worst day of her life... at least of the life she still remembered. But soon enough it would be forgotten, gone with the wind and vanished into nothingness.

All thanks to Talon's chemical trickery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene with Widow in the alley was re-written like a bazillion times. I had her just ignore the guy, I had her beat the guy up right at the corner, I had her beat him up in the alley, I had her kill him at the corner, I had the version you just read, I left it all to the reader's imagination. I didn't like any of those options. So, in the end I threw a dice. Hope you like the decision fate imposed on me... yeah... fate...
> 
> Some translations:
> 
> "Casse-toi, enfoiré" = (French) Fuck off, asshole.
> 
> "parfaitement" = (French) perfect
> 
> "petit chou" = (French? snookums
> 
> "tigre" = (French) tiger
> 
>  
> 
> and, as usual:
> 
> If you want to support the story, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction


	9. Recall

**Watchpoint Gibraltar: Overwatch headquarters, approximately 0123 hours**

Winston was breathing heavily, staring at the blank screen of one of the many different terminals in his laboratory. It only showed a blinking white prompt and nothing else. The huge monkey grunted, taking a quick peek at his hand, which was pressed to his shoulder. Dark red glister was spread over his skin.

He was bleeding.

The raid on Watchpoint Gibraltar came out of fucking nowhere. Suddenly there were Talon-Soldiers all over the place, running down the corridors, blowing doors open with explosive charges and charging into every remotely important location. Winston didn't have the first idea how Talon managed to breach the primary security ring without Athena noticing, but they managed to get right into the base before the alarm went off.

He made a mistake; the one mistake you should never make: Underestimating your enemy.

Winston paid the price for his stupidity.

He was standing in what little was left of his completely destroyed laboratory. Of all the locations in the Watchpoint, his lab apparently was the primary target. Or better the artificial intelligence living inside his lab was the target. And now the place which had become his home bore close resemblance to a warzone. Tables were flipped over and tossed around the room, shards of glass spread over the blood-smeared floor with enough empty shell casings to pose a slip hazard. The corpses of three different Talon-Soldiers were lying unpleasantly around, one of them violently ripped into two halves, when Winston tried to defend the Watchpoint and Athena.

But no matter how much he tried, in the end, Talon got what they came for. The soldiers weren't the biggest problem; Winston might have managed to hold _them_ at bay. But Talon didn't only send their Soldiers. There also was an old acquaintance: The supernatural warrior clad in black robes. Reaper managed to download Athena and all her data.

Winston's best efforts weren't enough. They came and took her.

She was an AI, true, but Winston had made her, pouring all his passion and heart into her creation. The bodiless assistant was something like his daughter. He was there from the first line of code to the last. He taught her how to think, how to talk and how to behave. He taught her everything he knew. Winston had even shown her how to be polite and how to converse with organics. Athena was the closest thing to a daughter as Winston would ever get.

And now she was gone.

The pain in his bleeding shoulder was nothing compared to the one arching in his chest.

"C'mon, Athena!" he pleaded the console, desperately waiting for _some_ sign of life from his AI-friend. But the blinking prompt was all he saw.

An idle console, nothing more.

The silent cough of someone in the obliterated room caught Winston's attention after a little while. It was actually rather unlikely that he'd hear the noise over the sound of his heavy breathing, but the monkey's alert ears still caught on to the sound.

He turned around to see the source of the coughing. Stepping over the solder he ripped in two halves mere minutes before, careful to not step into the huge puddle of dark red blood leaking out of the dead body, Winston approached one soldier, who was apparently still more or less alive.

Probably less than more.

He lost an arm and was trying to crawl away, leaving a smeared line of blood on the otherwise clean white tile floor. Winston had no problem catching up with the soldier and grabbing him at his neck with his good hand, rising the black-clad guy in the air. Winston ungently tore the mask off the soldier's face and tossed it away. For a short moment Winston was confused. The soldier hiding under the scary looking dark grey mask was no man, but very much a woman. The monkey scientist had to remind himself that not only men fought in wars and that not only they died in them. There were more than enough women serving in the military. Still, it felt a little weird, and something in Winston was uncomfortable with the situation.

He had been taught to respect women. But who he held in his hand right now was a soldier.

Eerie red eyes in a pale face with blue veins spread over it stared at Winston more hateful than anything he ever saw. He didn't even get the chance to say a word before the soldier spit in Winston's face, wearing an expression of utmost disgust.

Maybe he didn't have a problem squeezing information out of her after all.

"What were you here for? How did you get in? What were your orders? Where did you take Athena?" he roared so loud, the ground started to vibrate.

The female soldier he had tightly grabbed in his hand laughed viciously, her amber-red eyes lighting up for a moment, a nasty smile spread over her lips, revealing sharp teeth with unnatural long fangs.

" _Pierdol się, brzydka małpo_!" she hissed despisingly, flicking her tongue over one of her canines. Winston didn't realize what was going on until it was already too late. He didn't see that her tooth was gone until the soldier had already bitten down on it.

It didn't even take a second before her whole body started having extreme convulsions, her red eyes rolling into unnatural positions and thick white foam fuming out of her mouth. A moment later the body of the woman slacked completely, like a dead bag of meat.

"Cyanide" Winston sighed, letting go of the now dead woman, who ungracefully fell to the floor with a loud crash. He looked around in his lab and didn't know what to do. It was completely destroyed. So much broken stuff like expensive instruments and sophisticated prototypes. The splashes of blood, which were covering the walls and the floor, and all those dead and deformed bodies. There were more corpses in his lab than alive people in the entire Watchpoint at this moment.

Morrison's timing with holiday for everyone could not have been worse. Talon somehow must have gotten wind of the vacation and planned their attack accordingly. It only made sense.

When Winston almost gave up, he turned around one more time to catch one last glimpse at what used to be Athena. He would miss her dearly. Not the assistant, but the friend she was.

But the prompt was gone.

Long lines of code were running down the terminal, so fast it appeared to be one big blur.

And by the time Winston had blinked his surprise away and made his way across the lab and towards the terminal, the lines of codes were gone, replaced by the AI's logo.

"A-Athena?" Winston asked carefully.

A fraction of a second passed, and the scientist-monkey almost thought he got his hopes up for nothing, but then: "I am here, Winston" her calm synthetic voice said, and the gorilla let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"Thank god you are alive!" He sighed with relief.

"I am." The bodiless voice of Athena replied. "But I have bad news"

"Might as well tell me now" Winston decided reluctantly. It wasn't like this day could be any worse, but then again...

"A copy of my database has been stolen. Reaper retrieved the locations and identities of all active and former Overwatch operatives."

Winston's eyes widened "E-Everyone?" He asked.

"I am afraid so" Athena replied, her synthetic voice carrying as much compassion as it could.

Ever since Overwatch has been officially shut down, most of the former operatives spread around the world. Some hired themselves out as mercenaries, some wandered the world, trying to help people in need and some started their own research projects. From time to time they came back to Gibraltar, whenever they searched for something to do, for their annual reunions, for one or another secret mission together or simply to meet up with each other.

Mercy and Tracer were the two most prominent exceptions.

The former was just too worried about everyone to leave the Watchpoint. She knew that most of her former brothers and sisters in arms would need a doctor who didn't ask a lot of questions sooner or later. So she stayed, leaving her door open to everyone wounded in battle. That, and of course for the completely legal science teams currently stationed at the Watchpoint. Injuries were rather common among them as well.

And while Mercy was staying out of her unwavering sense of duty, Tracer stayed because she had nowhere else to go. Her chronal accelerator needed a lot of maintenance, so she was basically tied to where Winston was. When she didn't take a few days off at her apartment in London, she usually spent her days at the Watchpoint. Winston didn't mind. He had someone around who he could send out to do minor peacekeeping missions and Lena had something to do. Everyone wins.

But apart from those two exceptions, everyone else scattered around the world.

And now their exact locations were known to Talon. Which could only mean one thing.

"Athena! Call everyone back! Tell them they are in danger. They have to avoid traceable means of transportation at all cost. They are most likely all being targeted. Tell them we had a data-leak and tell them to get a move on _fast!_ We will bring the band back together."

"Do you want to initiate the recall-initiative?" Athena asked, causing Winston to pause for a moment. He had been toying with this thought for quite some time.

Recall would bring _everyone_ back on active duty, basically reactivating Overwatch. Doing that was officially an act of terrorism. They wouldn't be any different from Talon, at least in the eyes of the government. But did it really matter? Winston saw it in the news every day. Riots, terror, violence, the omnics on the rise once again. Armed conflicts and utter devastation wherever the sore eye looked.

Shit was bound to hit the fan hard, and it would do so _very_ soon. One way or another, the world was turning into an explosive mix of hate and fear, and it was only a matter of time until everyone would go at each other's throats again. Omnics and humans, humans and humans. It didn't matter.

The world was on the brink to full scale _war_ one more time in its history of bloody conflicts. Winston could feel it in his bones.

It lingered in the air, that primal feeling of an impending _hunt._ And when the world would finally explode in a violent eruption of hate and mutual contempt, Overwatch would be ready to stand up for all those caught in the crossfire. Protecting the innocent and punishing the wicked. It was what they had been founded for, their holy duty and the sacred vow any member took upon entering their band of brothers.

But their family was ripped apart by the government, by bigoted bureaucrats with only their political career in mind.

True, there had been some issues with the moral credibility of one or another mission. The public started accusing Overwatch of taking part in criminal activities, and more and more controversial operations stoked public outrage, but Winston always thought it was nothing which would not have been fixed.

That was until the United Nations launched a top secret investigation against Overwatch. It was before the existence of the top secret Blackwatch was made public knowledge and before Gabriel Reyes, the commander of Blackwatch, launched a violent and bloody attack on his former brother in arms, Jack Morrison, claiming the lives of hundreds of good men along those of Morrison and Reyes.

Morrison was only perceived dead, whilst Reyes actually bit the dust, at least to Winston's knowledge. Overwatch lay in ruins, and with the Petras act quickly signed, it was also made illegal. The former heroes and saviors of the world were deemed terrorists with the stroke of a pen.

Winston still felt the betrayal creeping up inside him whenever he thought back to that day.

All they wanted to do was help, but all they got was being made the scapegoat for the mistakes of a few individuals.

"Winston?" Athena's bodiless voice asked. "You are lost in thought"

"I am sorry, Athena" Winston replied, clearing his throat. "Yes. Please activate the recall-initiative" Winston said, turning away from the console. "It's enough. The world is on the brink of chaos once again. Today was just the last drop. I will not idly sit by and watch while the world is set to the torch."

"Do you want me to contact the persons added to the list of possible candidates as well?" Athena's calm voice asked.

"Has their personal information been stolen?" Winston wanted to know. He had been collecting the personal files of people he would have liked to join Overwatch, should the organization ever be revived or for the event that he activated the recall-initiative. The numbers of those serving in the original Overwatch were dwindling, after all. They needed new soldiers, if Overwatch wanted to change anything.

"Unfortunately so" Athena replied instantly.

"Then please inform them as well. Thank you, Athena"

"Anytime, Winston."

-/-

**Unmarked Talon controlled freighter, Mediterranean sea, the next day, 0856 hours**

Widowmaker floated in a whirlwind of dark grey clouds, a violent wind pulling on her skin and hair, while she had the feeling of falling downwards into a bottomless pit. Pictures and voices seemed to be hiding in the clouds, but all Amélie could do was catch a glimpse of them while she was rapidly falling past. There was the calming voice of a beautiful woman calling out her name, her real name, not just her call sign. Widowmaker remembered the name of the woman calling out for her. A moment later, she fell past an image of them kissing, but the girl suddenly was a stranger to Widow. She couldn't recall ever meeting her as the memory of their affectionate kiss whirled up in the clouds and Widowmaker fell past it. Her bones ached and her head was tortured by a throbbing pain in her temples, while she was falling faster and deeper into the endless hole. Whole events were forgotten as soon as she fell past them. It didn't take long before Widowmaker had forgotten that Tracer ever existed. She forgot about the reason she wanted her memory to be reset and she also forgot about the burning desire she felt for the Brit.

It was like they had never met in the first place.

Once the pit got so dark Amélie couldn't see anything around her anymore, she knew her journey came to an end. The feeling of smacking hard against the ground woke her up rather violently.

Widowmaker opened her eyes gain, sucking in a deep breath of air. It felt like waking up from one of those horrible nightmares where she was falling into nothing only to wake up in the exact same moment of her impact on the ground, bathed in sweat and breathing heavily.

But it was no nightmare this time. It was a routine procedure for Widowmaker. The pain in her head was still there, and her body felt weird, but her soul was balanced. For a swift moment she felt like remembering something in the furthest corner of her mind, but that flash of _orange_ was gone as fast as it appeared, a faint giggle being carried away with the wind.

The strange thing was that Widow felt _relieved_ of something which had been bothering her. She didn't remember what it was, but she knew it was gone now. Breathing was easier and she felt strangely whole. She was empty inside, but not broken anymore. Widowmaker didn't know why she got the feeling of not being broken anymore because she didn't remember being broken in the first place. But far be it for her to think about those things any further.

She looked at the doctor to her right, who was retrieving a needle from her left arm, while another undid the leather manacles holding her head and naked body tightly in place. As horrible as it may have been, Widowmaker was so used to this by now she didn't even waste a second thought about the procedure anymore.

"Thank you, doctor" Widowmaker said coolly, gracefully swinging off the medical examination chair, giving the doctor a cold glare. The feeling of being a blank paper once again was strange; especially since Widowmaker couldn't get rid of that nagging feeling that her blank paper had more than one black spot on it. Something didn't feel the way it should have felt.

It would fade away soon, she was sure of it.

Turning to go and get dressed again, Widowmaker's eyes fell upon her naked body, reflected in a wall-sized mirror inside the laboratory. She paused a moment to look at herself, and noticed an unfamiliar pale blue scar just above her hip. She let a finger run over the scarred tissue, but the little line was there without any doubt. She couldn't really remember how she got it. But when her fingers touched the spot on her abdomen, Widow suddenly got a warm feeling, like someone had carried her to safety. _Strange_...

"Where did you get that scar from, Widowmaker?" the doctor asked, appearing next to her. To his credit, he didn't stare at her stark naked form. His voice, with its heavy Russian accent, tore Widowmaker out of her musing.

"You should have asked me that before the wipe, _crétin._ How would I know?" she hissed, quickly slipping inside her bodysuit. Without another word, Widowmaker grabbed her rifle and was gone a second later, vanished in the dark corridors of the Talon freighter.

She didn't get far.

"Unscheduled reset?" A deep growling voice stated more than it asked.

Widowmaker sighed, turning to her right only to see Reaper casually leaning toward the metal wall, his arms crossed over his chest. Obviously reading his facial expression was impossible due to his skull-mask, but his voice did sound a tiny bit annoyed. "What do you care, _la Faucheuse_?" she asked.

"You owe me a favor. And now you forgot about it" he replied.

"Oh is that right?" Widowmaker shrugged. She really couldn't care less. "And why would I believe that?" she asked, her voice feigning a flirty tone.

Reaper chuckled a deep and pervasive laugh "Why do you think you needed to be wiped out of schedule?" he asked before he pushed himself off the wall, stepping closer to Widow. "I prevented the last wipe, little spider. And that's why you owe me."

"Don't feed me that bullshit, _la Faucheuse_. Search another fool for your games. What do you want?" Widowmaker asked, ignoring the feeling that something was not right. There was that flash of _orange_ again, which almost warmed her heart for a moment.

"Repellent today, aren't we? Still high on the chemicals, Widow?" Reaper scoffed leaning forward far too much and invading Widow's personal space. She raised an eyebrow, tilting her head out of the way so she wouldn't touch his mask with her cheek. Widowmaker could have stepped away, but she didn't want to give in. Why was Reaper telling her all this?

"I would greatly appreciate you not wasting my time further and telling me what you want. Can you do that?" she asked with a slightly cocky grin.

Reaper growled and it almost sounded like he was frustrated. Widowmaker didn't know it, but he, in fact, was _very_ frustrated. With her mind wiped again he would have to start planning from the beginning. He _needed_ that favor, otherwise his whole master plan would not work. "So, you won't pay me back. I see" he growled. "Helping you was a mistake it seems" he added, pressing a finger to her chest.

A picture shot into Widowmaker's head out of nowhere. It showed her, also on the very same freighter in a corridor with Reaper. He had been pressing one of his armored fingers to her chest, just like he did now, telling her he would have her personality destroyed if she dared to backstab him. The image was gone in a flash, but it did leave a strange taste in Widow's mouth.

" _Oui, oui,_ _la Faucheuse_. I don't care. Did you just come here to whine about that stupid favor? Because I have better things to do" she stated, visibly unimpressed, wiping Reaper's finger off her with the back of her hand.

Growling, the black clad man seemed to give up on the topic. There was really no point in pushing this further. His only option was to wait and see if he could somehow manage to get Widow into a situation where she'd owe him again.

But for now, there was really only one thing left to do. And that was the reason why he was sent here in the first place.

"Here" Reaper replied. A dossier appeared out of a cloud of black smoke and dropped into his hand before he passed it to Widowmaker.

She flipped the cover open and looked into the file inside. "My next target?" she asked.

"Yes" Reaper nodded.

Widowmaker raised an eyebrow once again "Also the favor you have been so keen on, _la Faucheuse_?" she wanted to know, with a smug grin on her lips. It was strange; she didn't remember Reaper being so keen on her owing him a favor. But then again, Widowmaker had just freshly come out of the memory-reconditioning machine, so all she remembered was what Talon _wanted_ her to remember. Her training and acquired skills were the most important thing for obvious reasons, but there were also the basics of the important Talon personal. It didn't make a lot of sense to have her forget the people she was working with after all.

So maybe she just didn't remember this side of Reaper.

Maybe she really owed him? Widowmaker didn't care.

"Hardly, little spider" Reaper replied with an eerie laugh "Official orders" he added, before vanishing in a dark black pillar of smoke.

Widowmaker turned her attention back into the file, looking at the picture of a fat man, apparently taken at some kind of press event. Devaraja Ramachandran was his name, an Indian type of person and the current major of Numbani. In two weeks he would publically speak at the opening ceremony for the local museum, so the point where Widowmaker would strike was already scouted out for her. Good.

She closed the file again, heading toward the helipad.

And yet once more, there was that flash of orange, blinking past her down the corridor. Or at least Widowmaker imagined it. Again, she thought she heard someone giggle cutely, but when she turned around, obviously no one was there. What the hell was going on? The voice did feel familiar, and Widowmaker felt like she _should_ remember who it belonged to.

But she didn't. And then the feeling of someone being at her side was gone as Widowmaker was off to do what she did best.

Killing people.

Her legs carried her through the complex maze of different paths and hallways inside the Talon ship, not thinking once Widowmaker found her way outside on deck of the freighter.

The weather was beautiful, the sun rising above the blue sea on a sky without a single cloud. A soft breeze was playing gently with Amélie's hair while she walked toward the black, squat shuttle with long wings, spreading into two shark-fins on the end of each wing.

Two black-clad men were walking around the shuttle, apparently preparing the aircraft for launch.

They most likely heard the clicking of Widowmaker's heels on the metal floor as they turned around.

"Ma'am!" they both snapped to attention "We will be your pilots for today. My name is-"

Widowmaker rose a hand to stop the pilot from talking further " _Ta gueule!_ I don't care. Just get me to the destination. And if you want to come back home alive, I suggest you don't talk to me" she said, not even bothering to look at the pilots while she walked past them and into the steel belly of the shuttle.

The pilots exchanged a look. "Damn" the one said.

"Yeah, she is the real deal, mate. I am telling you, don't mess with her. Did you know she broke a guy's neck, because he called her pretty?"

"Seriously?!" the first pilot looked surprised. He was a rather new member of Talon, a former U.S. navy fighter pilot who got cashiered for insubordination. And now he was a shuttle-pilot in the service of Talon, playing taxi for the deadliest assassin in the world. Not what he expected his life would turn out to be.

"Yeah... Just leave her alone. Better for your health"

"Noted"

"What are you two chit-chatting about?" A dangerously deep voice asked from behind the two pilots, sending a cold shiver down their spines while their bodies almost froze solid. Slowly they turned around to see Reaper standing directly behind them, holding a simple black metal suitcase.

"Sorry, Sir! We-"

"Spare me the excuses" Reaper interrupted "Is the spider on board?"

"She is, Sir!" one of the two almost identical looking Pilots replied, causing Reaper to nod. He handed the other one the heavy black suitcase.

"After you dropped the assassin, you will deliver this suitcase to these coordinates" he said, handing the first pilot an envelope. "Do not open these orders until after you dropped off Widowmaker"

"Sir, yes, Sir! Understood."

"Good"

-/-

**Watchpoint: Gibraltar, six days later, 0917 hours.**

Tracer and Mercy stumbled into the lecture hall, looking more than exhausted, more than tired and more than dead, and completely destroyed. They were like two walking corpses, freshly dug up from a grave.

Angela had dark blue circles around her eyes and was pale as ash, while Tracer's eyes were bloodshot, her hair just as messy as Mercy's and her face covered with dark black grease. Mercy apparently had trouble keeping herself on her feet while Tracer was more falling than walking forward. Her legs felt like they were made from concrete, and she wasn't too sure if the things her head were showing her were real or not.

"We are home" Tracer mumbled as she walked through the glass doors leading into the lecture room. Winston was giving a presentation about something in front of a larger group of people, but Lena's eyes were betraying her; all she saw was a big blur. She had trouble focusing her attention to the presentation Winston was giving, but luckily, she managed to at least see the people in attendance rather clearly. Tracer recognized most of them, as did Mercy, but there also were quite a few unfamiliar presences.

When he noticed the newcomers, Winston stopped talking, turning his head to the entrance, along with everyone else in the hall.

And they all noticed one thing rather quickly. No matter how utterly exhausted Tracer looked, she managed to look even more pissed off.

"Now for the love of god" Tracer continued "Would you tell me why we had to come here all in secret?! We could have booked a perfectly good flight back to this place. So why the secrecy? Do tell me, _Winston_ " she said, her mood at an all time low and her voice enough to freeze the entire lecture hall. Normally, Tracer's thread of patience was a steel cable of unmatched strength and durability, but right now it was dangerously close to snapping.

"Lena!" Winston said full of worry "You look-"

Tracer cut him off loudly. "Oy, if you even _think_ about telling me I look like shit now, I will kick your ass right out of the window, big guy!" Lena _hissed._ Up until now no one knew that the ever friendly, always happy Lena Oxton was even capable of doing something remotely reminiscent of hissing, but apparently she very much was... and that made it even more scary.

"We have been travelling for six days straight because you told us to not use traceable means of transportation. Do you have any idea how difficult that is, Winston?! I haven't closed an eye ever since we left my apartment in London and neither has Angela. We hitchhiked from London to Dover. Angela and I, two good looking women, because what could possibly happen, right? The outskirts of London aren't dangerous or anything! No no; not at all! I think Angela still has the imprints of her blaster-grip imprinted into her palm, that's how hard she squeezed it."

Lena paused a moment to give Mercy the opportunity to nod tiredly. At this point, the Swiss doctor was close to falling into a sleep-deprivation induced coma, while Tracer continued with her small outburst.

"But that wasn't the worst part! When we arrived in Dover, we hid inside a tiny cargo-area of a tankship, hoping it would bring us to Europe. But guess what? It didn't. We ended up in Egypt! And from there it was a lovely, fun little trip to Gibraltar on board a rusty old fishing smack together with four, perverted sixty-plus year old fishermen, who didn't understand the word _lesbian_ and also didn't seem aware of the meaning behind _fuck off!_ Can you imagine how nice that was, Winston? All because you thought it was necessary to be extra mysterious in that stupid recall message!"

Lena paused for a brief moment, in which she stared Winston down before she continued "I didn't sleep! I didn't shower! I barely ate! I am _royally_ pissed off and I want to know what's going on for fucks sake! My location was leaked? Bloody hell, Winston! I never tried to hide my location! You can look it up in the phone book if you want to; it's that easy! So what is this ruckus about?" Lena exploded, her voice getting louder and louder with every word she spoke. Her hands were shaking violently, and the otherwise ever-so-happy-and-laid-back Lena Oxton seemed to have a hard time calming down.

She inhaled deeply, looking over to Angela for support, but the doctor was already dozing off, still standing. Lena nudged her in the side to wake her up, but that changed exactly nothing.

"Have you ever seen Angela so exhausted that she falls asleep while standing, Winston? Because I surely haven't." Lena crossed her arms over her chest, letting them rest on her chronal accelerator.

Winston sighed, rubbing over the bridge of his nose, adjusting his glasses in the process. He looked into the group of people, who had been listening to his presentation on what had happened at the Watchpoint prior to the recall. They all were now staring at Tracer, those who knew her already with a slightly bemused smile on their lips, while those who didn't know her just stared in surprise. Who was that woman and why was she making such a fuss? And who was the blonde falling asleep right next to her?

"Alright. Everyone, meet Lena Oxton. Codename Tracer. She is one of our best field-agents. And the other one currently falling asleep is Dr. Angela Ziegler. Also known as Mercy. She is our finest doctor and the best field-medic you will ever see." Winston introduced, before shifting his attention back to Lena and Angela. "Lena, listen, I am sorry for how things had to happen, but trust me when I say it was very important."

Lena repeatedly tapped her heel on the ground "We are here now, so-" she wanted to say that they might as well forget the chaos of their travels now that she had vented her anger and get on with the important stuff, but she was interrupted by Mercy collapsing right next to her. Tracer was just barely able to catch her now soundly sleeping best friend before she would have crashed to the floor like a falling tree.

Their six-day long journey had been particularly stressful for Mercy, all the way from London via Egypt to Gibraltar she had met people in dire need of help. Families struck by poverty so bad they were barely able to fill their tables with food, families ripped apart by Omnic attacks, or children mutilated by terror-attacks.

Lena knew her best friend.

Mercy wanted to help more than anything else, and she tried her best whenever she could wherever she could. But it was nowhere near enough. Angela couldn't help anyone, despite trying tirelessly.

What exhausted her so much wasn't only the physical stress and sleep deprivation, but even more so the emotional stress Mercy imposed on herself. Tracer knew how hard it was for her best friend to leave people behind. And nothing she said or did could have ever changed that.

Lena actually was surprised the Swiss doctor didn't collapse sooner.

And now Tracer was trying to hold Mercy somewhat upright. But she couldn't help and notice the toll their journey had on her own body. Working hard on that fishing smack as a way to pay for their travels had exhausted Tracer to a point where she also was close to collapsing. And holding Mercy now was getting more and more impossible.

"Could someone help me get Angela to her quarters?" Lena asked. Winston was already starting to move when someone in the back rows of the lecture hall, close to the entrance Tracer and Mercy had used, stood up and came closer.

"I'll give you a hand" the woman said with a nod. Tracer didn't have a lot of time to look at her, but she was wearing a simple dark grey uniform with a blue beret and heavy leather jump boots, her pants tucked into her shoes. The soldier was tall and carried her body with the precision only a well trained fighter could muster. Her voice was strong and commanding, making her background crystal clear. She came from the military. The woman had dark tanned skin and a tattoo right under her right eye, which formed together with her eye an ancient Egyptian symbol. The eye of Horus.

She didn't smile or show any other emotion when she crouched down and picked up Mercy from Tracer, lifting her into the air like it was nothing.

"Thanks...uhh" Lena replied, but didn't know how to call her. Lena got up from the ground and opened the door for the unknown soldier currently carrying Tracer's best friend. Somehow this felt a lot weirder than it should. Maybe it was because Tracer was on the brink of passing out herself.

"My name is Fareeha. Fareeha Amari" the woman introduced herself, following Tracer down the halls and corridors of the Watchpoint, brightly lit by the warm morning sun. The actual time of the day completely contradicted Tracer's inner clock where it was precisely bed-o'clock.

Tracer scratched her head. "Amari, that rings a bell..." she took a second longer than she should have, probably because her brain was craving sleep more than anything else in this moment, but Lena eventually figured it out. "Hang on! You're Ana's daughter!"

"I am" Fareeha replied with a nod. It wasn't a topic she liked to talk about. All her life she had dreamed about following in her mother's footsteps; of becoming just like her idol. Fareeha's mother was a hero to her daughter. She adored her like no one else.

But then, one fateful day, someone shot Ana, violently taking the mother away from the daughter. And just when Fareeha overcame her grief and sorrow from the loss of her mother and regained her determination to join Overwatch stronger than ever before, the organization was shut down. They weren't the brightest days of Fareeha's life, nor were they particularly enjoyable.

"Bloody hell!" Tracer smacked herself slightly onto her forehead "she always told so many stories about you" Tracer managed to giggle tiredly. "Damn, I must have left the perfect impression on you now. Sorry for the chaos. Mercy and I had a rough journey. I hope you feel welcome here!"

"Don't worry about it, Ma'am. I'm happy to be here." Fareeha replied with a nod. She had always wanted to accompany her mother more often, but Ana only took her daughter with her once. Fareeha still had the picture taken on that day carefully hidden away in her most private documents. It had been the best day of her life.

"Ohuu, no, no, nooo" Tracer laughed "Don't call me _Ma'am_ , ok? Name's Lena. Or Tracer if you prefer. But please don't _Ma'am_ me. I feel like my grandma"

"I will try and remember that" Fareeha replied with a little insecurity in her voice. Tracer was supposed to be her superior, no? This was starting on a heavy friendship basis, one the young Amari daughter didn't quite expect. She was used to military discipline and somehow had expected this place to be just the same as every other military institution. But so far there were no ranks, no _Sir_ or _Ma'am,_ and no harsh orders. It was more like a warm welcome into a family, and nothing like her first day at Helix Security, so much was sure.

"Thanks, luv" Tracer said friendly, leading the woman carrying Mercy to their destination. "Almost there" she announced, and started to fish for her keys in her brown jacket. Her fingers were clumsy, and it took her a bit longer to finally get the key into her hands, but Lena somehow managed. Unlocking one of the doors in the dorm-area of the Watchpoint, Tracer didn't hesitate to push the door out of the way and walk inside.

The orange door swung open, revealing the small private area behind it. Everything was exactly where it belonged. Mercy was keeping her quarters cleaned up nicely. Contrary to Tracer, who had a tendency toward being a little... unorganized.

"You have a key?" Fareeha asked curiously, raising an eyebrow. It did seem rather odd; why would Tracer have the key to someone else's dorm room? And it wasn't just a spare key either since it was fixed to Tracer's key ring.

"Sure have" Lena replied, flipping the lights on, since the dorm rooms didn't have any windows. "Just lay her down on the bed. I'll take care of the rest. Thank you for your help, Fareeha."

Ana's daughter did as she was told and carefully placed a silently snoring Mercy on her bed before she turned around to leave. She hadn't been here for more than three days and things were already starting to get a little... weird. Well, not really weird; just not the way Fareeha expected.

"May I ask you a personal question, Ma- Tracer?" the tall and proud woman asked, stopping next to Lena, who came out of the bathroom with a wet cloth.

"Of course! Fire away, luv" Lena replied, trying to sound happy, yet her exhaustion showing clearly in her voice.

"You and doctor Ziegler seem to be very close... Aare you...?"

Tracer giggled loudly. If she'd have gotten a pound for every time someone assumed that, Tracer would be the richest girl on planet earth by now. Hell, her parents thought they were together... Fun times. "We aren't a couple if that is what you are getting at. Angela is my best friend, but nothing more. If I'd have any chance with her, I'd have taken it years ago. But I'm the wrong gender for her."

For a brief moment, an emotion Tracer couldn't read flashed over Fareeha's face before she nodded "I see. Thank you. I'll be going back to the briefing then if you don't need me anymore"

"No, we'll be fine. Thanks again, Fareeha" Tracer said with a tired smile on her lips, watching the Egyptian nod once before she left, closing the door behind her.

-/-

Breakfast the next morning was kind of a weird thing for both Tracer and Mercy. Suddenly, the mess-hall was not only full with the standard science-personal, which returned from their holidays and didn't know anything about the incidents of a few days ago, but also harbored new faces, which neither one of them had ever seen in their life. Since they arrived so late at the Watchpoint because of their minor fuckup during their journey, they missed the introduction of everyone and were now basically confronted with a bunch of complete strangers. And it wasn't like they could have gotten to know everyone afterward. They both slept almost an entire day and night, waking up around breakfast time the following day. So, this was literally the first time Mercy and Tracer saw the new guys and _weren't_ close to collapsing.

After Lena had tucked Angela into bed, undressing her and cleaning her up a little bit, she headed back to her quarter, grabbed the quickest shower she had ever taken and fell into bed naked. She fell asleep right on the covers and most likely didn't move the entire time she was out. The past 20 hours or so were the most revitalizing and refreshing hours in Tracer's entire life. She had never slept so soundly before, the exhaustion had been that close to killing her.

And now she was sitting at the breakfast table together with all her old brothers and sisters in arms, all those heroes from Overwatch with whom she had served the majority of her life.

A weird feeling. But a great one never the less. It might have been a little nostalgic, but things were almost like in the good old days. Except for the aging problem. Not that Tracer was affected by that.

"So, what exactly happened? I didn't get a chance to ask before" Tracer said while munching on her cereal. Hunger was the other very basic need she had to satisfy right after sleeping.

"Your journey back here was quite the adventure, wasn't it?" Reinhardt said, taking a sip from a huge mug of black coffee. The man was towering over the table like a giant bolder, his muscles squeezed into a grey shirt with an Overwatch patch on his right breast. It was quite possibly the biggest shirt available, but it still looked like it was going to burst any second.

"Don't remind me, _verdammt_!" Mercy sighed rubbing her temples in a counter-clockwise manner while staring at her empty plate of what had been scrambled eggs some minutes prior. "It was textbook Murphy's law. Everything which could have gone wrong, went wrong. I have no idea why we fucked that up so badly. But somehow we did."

Lena giggled "It all went wrong when we snuck onboard that tankship which was headed to Egypt. That was our mistake. We should have ignored what Winston said and just booked a flight with a fake ID" she somehow could see the humorous side to the last days now that she had slept enough and was currently devouring her third bowl of cereal.

"And where would we have gotten a fake ID from?" Mercy asked raising an eyebrow "I don't suspect you have some of those lying around somewhere?" she leaned a little forward to look past Torbjörn and at Tracer. The Brit just shrugged nonchalantly.

"Actually, I do" Tracer replied, before frowning "But only for myself; not for you, luv... so, point taken."

"I don't even want to know why you have fake IDs" Reinhardt shook his head in denial. "Anyway, it is nice to have the band back together"

"It is!" Lena nodded in agreement. She would have lied if she said she didn't miss everyone here terribly, even if they did see each other from time to time. "Which brings me back to square one: Why is the band back together?"

"Well, Oxton, we had a security breach" a voice said, approaching from behind. Jack Morrison didn't hesitate and grabbed a chair before he sat down on the table of his old comrades. He took a moment to look at Tracer and Mercy as if checking they were indeed alright before he continued. "Maybe it was my mistake. I figured holidays for everyone would be a good idea, so I sent the whole lot away to do just that. And just when I did, Talon attacked. They must have gotten wind about this, because their timing could not have been worse." He cleared his throat, stealing a piece of crispy bacon off of McCree's plate, who just shot him an evil glare. "Anyway, Reaper managed to steal all our personnel files. The codenames, the locations, their current positions. Not only of the former members, but also of the candidates Winston had set his eyes on. The spooky bastard took everything with him. Winston didn't want to take a risk and activated the recall initiative."

"It was about time, too" Reinhardt agreed. "The whole world is sinking into _Scheiße_ "

"So that's why we have all those rookies over there?" Lena nodded towards a table, maybe two or three rows away from theirs, where a bunch of unfamiliar faces were currently having breakfast. They all looked rather new to this. The way they peered around in amazement was a dead giveaway. The only one Lena recognized was Fareeha, the soldier who carried Mercy to her dorm when Lena was too exhausted to do it.

There also was a woman almost as huge as Reinhardt with bright pink hair sitting in between an Indian type kind of girl and someone almost tiny in comparison. They all had their back to Lena, so she couldn't see a lot, but the tiny one had deep black hair, and when she quickly looked to her left, Tracer saw pink war paint on her cheeks. There were more people on their table, but thanks to the huge pink haired woman, Lena didn't really see anyone.

"Indeed. They are all good fellows. You might want to introduce yourself at some point."

"Will do, Morrison" Tracer replied, standing up. She was about to call for Mercy so she would come along, when Morrison stopped her and sat her back down.

"Not now!" He said rolling his eyes. Lena was always so... immediate "Winston has a job for you. He said that Athena calculated a few high priority targets which Talon might set their sights on at some point. He said you and Mercy should go and see him in his lab after breakfast." Morrison said to Tracer before turning to her best friend "He has something for you as well, doc" he announced, not actually knowing what Winston wanted to tell the two ladies. Not that he cared a lot.

"Sometimes the big guy is getting a little pushy" Lena huffed, poking at the last bit of cereal left in her bowl. She quickly scooped it up in her spoon and stuffed it into her mouth. "C'mon, lvv. Leff not lef Wimpfton waift." she mumbled, gesturing Mercy to come along while she stood up.

Turning to leave, Lena was stopped once again by Morrison, who leaned back in his chair "Oh, and Oxton?"

"Mh?" Lena looked over her shoulder, swallowing the cereal down.

"Hands off the new girls, ok? They have no idea their worst enemy isn't at the frontlines but in the same room with them right now" Morrison had a cheeky smile on his lips, causing Lena to roll her eyes.

"You are just jealous that I get more pussy than you do, Morrison" she shot back with a wink, walking away to the suppressed snickering of McCree and Reinhardt. Having everyone back was nice, but still, Lena really could have lived without the old jokes.

"I'm not that bad, am I?" Lena asked Angela as they walked past the table with the new guys. There were quite a few of them. The girl with the pink war paint was Asian and indeed rather _cute._

Mercy had to suppress a giggle. "Face it, if not for your mystery French girl you would have hit on the poor Asian right now" she replied with a knowing smirk, turning Lena's cheeks bright red.

"You are terrible, luv" she accused, pouting playfully. Sometimes it was really bad that Mercy knew her so incredibly well. She most likely also knew exactly what Lena would have said.

"Noo... _you_ are terrible, _Süße._ And you know it, because you _like_ it" Mercy laughed happily, giving her best friend a slight push. Yep, the doctor knew Tracer inside out.

"Maybe a little bit" Oxton admitted reluctantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Pierdol się, brzydka małpo = (Polish) fuck you, ugly ape
> 
> Ta gueule = (French) Shut up
> 
>  
> 
> If you want to support the story, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction


	10. Memento

**Airspace above Numbani, the day of Devaraja Ramachandran's public speech. Cloaked Overwatch shuttle #351**

Lena was walking up and down the length of the shuttle at a fast pace. Those last ten minutes before the landing were always the worst. In that time she would get nervous, insecure, and generally uncomfortable. But only in those last few minutes before a mission. It was a stupid habit, and one she couldn't get rid of. No matter how good Tracer felt she prepared, or how relaxed she was during the hour long flight, nervousness always got the better of her in the end.

She pressed her phone to her ear, currently talking to her best friend. Angela had been invited to an international medical conference in Zürich, her hometown. Originally she didn't think she could go, because of her responsibilities at the Watchpoint, but then Winston said that they might need a lot of medical supplies soon. He asked Mercy to make some new friends there... which the doctor was more than happy to do, not only because it was her hometown, but also because it had been years since she had been to such a conference.

"How is it going, Angela? Everything alright?" Tracer asked.

"Absolutely" Angela replied, the excitement clearly audible in her voice. "It's really amazing here! So many smart people. I haven't talked so much in years! It's wonderful! I met Doctor Müller, _er hat ein Gerät erfunden, mit dem man-_ " she started gushing in her mother tongue, but was harshly interrupted by Tracer. She didn't mean to be mean or something, but if Lena wouldn't have stopped her best friend right there, she would have continued forever.

"Luv, I don't speak German. What are you talking about?" Lena smiled softly, happy that her best friend was enjoying herself. It was something the blonde doctor did way too seldom. Even though Tracer didn't fully understand how one could enjoy a medical conference so much, she was content that Mercy apparently did.

"Sorry, _Süße._ It's just so exciting!"

"I noticed" Tracer replied dryly.

"I said, Doctor Müller invented a device, which allows partial subdermal tissue reconstruction"

"Angela, please pretend you talk to some ex-military fighter pilot. In fact, don't pretend..."

"I'm so sorry!" Angela apologized and Lena could actually hear how her best friend turned red. "He invented something to heal internal injuries without having to cut the patient open" she explained.

"So kind of like your Caduceus Staff?"

"It is similar, though he doesn't require the nano-technology. It is slower and less efficient, but also way cheaper"

"I see" Tracer replied in a good mood, when someone tapped on her back. She peeked over her shoulder to see Morrison standing behind her, gesturing toward his wrist, as if wearing a watch.

"Sorry, luv. Gotta go save the world once again." Tracer jested.

"Of course. Be careful out there."

"Where would the fun be in that?" Lena replied with a dry laugh before she ended the connection.

"ETA in two minutes, Oxton. Here are the last updates from Athena" Morrison said, handing Lena a file with some last minute information the Overwatch AI managed to gather.

"So, rooftops, huh?" Lena asked, letting a hand run through her thick brown hair. "A sniper then," she mused absent minded. "Do you think they'll send Amé...errrr" Tracer quickly faked an embarrassed cough. Damn, she almost fucked that up. She really needed to watch her tongue. "...Widowmaker, like the last time?"

Morrison rose a suspicious eyebrow, but wasn't quite sure what this had been about. It did seem fake, but maybe Oxton really just choked. It wasn't that important. "Well, it would make sense. Athena calculated the major is a high priority target, so I don't see why Talon wouldn't send their best." he said, when the shuttle made rough contact with the ground of an abandoned parking-lot a few kilometers away from the place Devaraja Ramachandran would soon speak to the public.

"I need to drop the cloak in order to open the door, so be quick" the voice of the pilot announced over the speaker.

"Good luck, Oxton" Morrison said, pressing a button next to the hatch causing it to slowly glide to the ground.

"There is no need for luck, Morrison. I have ammo" she replied with a cheeky wink before Lena blinked away, leaving a sighing Soldier 76 behind. That girl would sooner or later get herself killed.

The door wasn't yet fully closed, but the shuttle already in the air, when Morrison's phone rang loudly. Rolling his eyes he, grabbed at his device, accepting the call.

"Yes?" he asked, knowing exactly who he was talking to.

"You have to do something" the deep voice, which could only belong to Reaper on the other end of the line, replied. He didn't waste any time and cut straight to the chase just as always.

"Alright, what do you need?"

"The big boss has placed a hit on Devaraja Ramachandran, the major of Numbani. I only now learned it is one of the most important targets for Talon right now and part of his great master plan. We have Widowmaker on site, but she had some _trouble_ keeping her flawless record as of recently. You know why. See to it that the hit happens. The major has to die" Reaper growled.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Morrison replied in a whispered hiss. "I dropped _Tracer_ off literally a minute ago to _prevent_ this. You haven't forgotten why I keep sending _her_ to these missions, have you?"

"I haven't. But that makes it even more important that you take care of this. I take it you are in Numbani?" Reaper asked.

"No, I dropped her off in Paris, where do you _think_ I am?" Morrison was all tense whenever he was talking to his former best friend about these kind of affairs. What he was doing... No, what they were doing was so unbelievably dangerous sometimes Morrison forgot what it was they were fighting for.

It had to be done.

This wasn't Reaper's fault; he did what he could, just as Jack did. They gave it their all, each and every day. With a heavy sigh, Morrison forced himself to calm down a little bit. No need to give Reyes crap. "Jesus Christ, couldn't you have called ten minutes earlier? You have the worst timing, brother"

There was a deep growl on the other end of the line. Morrison was hardly the only one whose nerves were raw. "What exactly is your illusion of how my work here looks like? It's not like I hang on the phone all day. This is the first opportunity to call I got."

"Alright, alright. I get it. Still, I am not equipped for what you have in mind. There was my own little mission going on before you sprung that new job on me."

"Not anymore. I arranged a care-packet to be dropped off at a safe location. I'll send you the coordinates. Ramachandran _has_ to die today or all our efforts will be in vain." Reaper said, his voice urging.

"I understand" Morrison replied. "Consider it done." He added, before terminating the communication.

"Pilot! New orders: turn that bird around and head for the following coordinates!"

"Yes, Sir!"

-/-

The red crosshair was perfectly in the middle of Devaraja Ramachandran's deep green eyes, while he was standing behind a noble lectern with Numbani's coat of arms on its front side. He was giving his speech from a richly decorated wooden stage in front of a museum, which had a large public square before it. Numerous different officials were sitting behind the major, who was currently talking about the various different obstacles which had to be overcome in human-omnic relationships. A surprisingly large crowd of people and omnics had gathered in the evening sun to hear their major talk. The Indian man was of stumpy stature, with a very short neck and large ears. His arms were disproportionally longer than the rest of his corpulent body, and he was sweating heavily. From time to time he reached into his pockets to retrieve a white silk napkin and dapple the heavy beads of sweat off his forehead. It helped his overall attractiveness little to nothing.

To put it in simple terms, Numbani's major was one ugly motherfucker. Widowmaker sighed, adjusting her grip of her custom made sniper rifle, concentrating on her target. Her time to strike hadn't come yet; the major was still moving too much. Despite being confident that she could easily connect the shot, Widowmaker didn't take any chances. She had time. Lots of it. And she was very patient. So in the meantime, the gorgeous assassin had little choice but to wait and listen to what the major had to say.

He might have been ugly beyond reasonable comparison, but he sure as hell could talk like no one else, Widowmaker had to admit this much. His speech was barely five minutes long and she actually noticed she was pretty interested in what the major had to say. He was by no means a stupid man. What he lacked in appeal, he made more than up with his wits.

Which was a rare trait, but still one which wouldn't help him one bit.

Widowmaker would squeeze that trigger no matter how interesting his speech was.

Soon he would be a dead man. An ugly dead man.

Patient like a spider waiting for her prey, Widow paused for the perfect moment to shoot, just when the major would be absorbed in his speech, so his movement would be minimal.

The time she had been waiting for had finally arrived. From the one second to the next, Widowmaker knew her moment to strike had come. Years of experience told the dangerous predator exactly when to pull the trigger.

Her delicate finger started to slowly squeeze the cold metal trigger backwards, her body preparing for the satisfying recoil of her rifle, her mental eye already seeing the bullet connecting with the target's head, forcing it to explode in a burst of red. Widowmaker anticipated that welcoming warm feeling of life returning to her soul when she had finished taking the major's life. When she had killed again. She looked forward to it with a subtle smile on her purple lips.

But suddenly there was a strange whooshing sound somewhere behind Widowmaker. It made her relax her trigger-finger, perking up her ears. And then there was a voice which should not have been there.

She should have been alone on the rooftop. There shouldn't have been anyone apart from Widowmaker. Yet a voice with heavy British accent urged to her ears, picking a special chord inside the deadly assassin; one she thought was familiar for a moment before that notion was gone again.

"Has someone ever told you how hot your butt looks when you look through that scope?" The annoying voice was followed by an equally annoying giggle. Even before Widowmaker managed to do anything there was that strange flash of _orange_ again which made her hesitate for a fraction of a second.

But then Talon's freshly reinstalled mental programming took over once again and her body began moving on its own.

Widow's head shot up from her rifle as she smoothly jumped to her feet, immediately spotting the person who managed to sneak up on her.

_A flash of orange._

It should have been a reason to pause, at least for a moment, but Talon's master assassin was running on autopilot. Someone was trying to withhold her from the objective which was given to her. Someone was interfering. That person was an _enemy._ A silent voice in her head kept whispering in her ear, ordering her to eliminate the enemies of Talon. To eliminate everyone who dared to interfere with the orders given to Widowmaker. And it was that creepy silent voice which kept Amélie from pausing and thinking, otherwise she might have stopped herself.

But she didn't.

Tracer stood there with a happy smile on her lips. She knew what Widowmaker had told her before she had left her alone inside that belfry in London. Looking back now, finally seeing the woman which made her heart jump wildly in her chest, it already seemed like it had been an eternity ago since they last saw each other.

Tracer knew she promised Amélie to be careful.

All the time she was around the public square, nervously looking out for a possible sniper, checking all the possible locations and hoping, praying to god that Talon would have sent _her._

And then Tracer had finally spotted something, which could have been the shadow of a barrel. She had almost missed that little detail, but luckily Tracer checked twice. Someone was on top of a roof, and that was when a part of Lena just _knew_. She hurried past security when they weren't watching and basically flew up the stairs to the rooftop of the building. She crashed through the metal door onto the warm concrete roof, her eyes scanning for the source of the shadow Tracer had seen before.

And Lena found who she had hoped to find.

Tracer may very well have never felt so excited in her whole life before. There she was, lying on a rooftop in her impossibly tight outfit, the evening sun shining down on her perfect body and a gentle breeze softly playing with her silken hair.

In that very moment, being careful was Tracer's last concern. She was just too happy to see _her_ again. And once she did, her mouth started to talk on its own.

Widowmaker spun around, grabbing her rifle at its barrel, preparing for a preemptive strike against the intruder. Amélie didn't realize the happy smile on her _opponent's_ lips. She didn't see Tracer's eyes light up in anticipation. All she saw was an enemy.

An annoyance.

A _target._

Without any hesitation, she rammed the metal shaft of her rifle straight into the intruder's face.

What did surprise Widow was how the other woman didn't seem to be the least bit prepared for an attack. She had her guard down completely, taking the blow to her face without any effort to deflect it. The woman grunted in pain, stumbling a few steps back, before Widow jumped forward, her whole body acting completely on its own. The relentless conditioning and brutal training Talon subjected her to had kicked in and was forcing her body to react accordingly. _Eliminate your enemy._ It was her highest priority right now. Kicking the annoyance in her stomach in an expertly done move of perfectly executed close combat, she brought her leg up to spin her body in the air and kick her opponent in the face once more time, using all the momentum of her moving body.

It happened so fast that Widowmaker had already landed a couple of heavy strikes, sending the other woman sliding over the rooftop, when she consciously realized for the first time that the girl in tight orange leggings didn't even _try_ to fight back. Despite being clearly armed, two pistols fixed to her thighs, the girl in bright orange leggings wasn't defending herself. No matter how hard Widowmaker hit the woman, she didn't make a move to draw her guns.

She just stood there, taking the beating like she was used to it, until she was lying on the ground, unmoving. Normally Widowmaker never talked to her victims, but this was the first time that someone didn't even try to put up a fight. She was really curious why that was, just as much as she was angry about it. It was almost insulting. Did that girl consider her an unworthy opponent? Was that it? What was that girl thinking?

"Why are you not fighting back?" Widowmaker hissed angrily, standing tall over the injured and bruising intruder. What was that shit about? The longer Widowmaker looked, the more she got the feeling that she had seen her before. Somehow the girl seemed familiar. She had something written on the left leg of her leggings. 'Tracer'. Was that her name? Tracer? It did sound oddly familiar. Though no matter how much Widow concentrated, whatever she was searching for barely escaped her grasp. She had the feeling it had been on the tip of her tongue, yet too far away to actually remember. Widowmaker was just sure that it had been something _important._ Important enough to not kill this annoyance on the spot. Important enough to still be there after being through her complete overhaul. "What do you want?"

And then the strange woman did something Widowmaker would have never imagined could happen.

Tracer smiled. At her.

It was a shaky, painful smile, but Tracer still did it. She smiled at the woman who just beat her up so badly that she was lying on the floor of the rooftop, her lips bleeding and her face bruising. _What the fuck?_

"Who are you?!" Widowmaker snarled, causing the warm smile on Tracer's lips to disappear for a tiny moment, before it was there again. Something was not right. Something was not right at all.

Tracer felt like being stabbed by a thousand daggers over and over again. Rationally, she knew that this could happen. She knew that Widowmaker could be forced to forget her at some point. She just hoped it wouldn't be so soon, that there would be more time for them to spend together and more opportunities to create memories worth holding on to.

Lena knew what had happened to Widowmaker when she attacked her. Yet the words spoken were more painful than the hits taken. _Those Talon bastards_! They had wiped her memory again, taking away every last bit of what Lena shared with Widow. They did just what Amélie had feared they would do. And they succeeded in it.

It wasn't Amélies fault. She was the victim in all of this.

Lena moved her lips to say something, but the sound which came out was too silent for Widow to hear, Tracer's voice carried away in the soft summer evening winds. The French assassin was too curious and too overwhelmed at this moment to resist the urge to crouch down next to the defeated woman, who never put up a fight in the first place. She wanted to hear what she would have to say, before she ended her puny life.

"Why would I want to hurt the girl of my dreams?" Tracer breathed, looking at Widowmaker with eyes wide open. She had tears in her eyes, not because of the physical pain, but because of what happened to her Amélie. Tracer didn't cry for selfish reasons; she couldn't help but do it because of Widowmaker. Her own pain was nothing compared to the things Talon did to Amélie. "I would never"

Once again they took everything away from the French woman. Tracer realized that with the impact of Widow's rifle in her face, yet the decision she made was an easy one. Tracer didn't want to take any chances; fighting back would have caused way more trouble than it would have solved. She promised Amélie that she'd make her remember, no matter what.

And Tracer would keep that promise, no matter what.

"Wha-" Widowmaker gasped, completely dumbstruck. What the hell was this lunatic talking about? They didn't know each oth-

"I promised I'll make you remember, luv" Tracer said in tears, yet trying to laugh in a desperate attempt to seem positive.

_luv..._

The word felt like someone stuck a needle in the back of Widowmaker's head. A short series of swift images flashed though her mind.

_Tracer looking at her with burning desire. Eyes filled with tears. A desperate plea: "Don't go now!"_

Widowmaker blinked as a slight pain in the back of her head started to become noticeable and Amélie pressed her hand to her temple. _What the hell is going on? Who is this girl? What is she doing to me?_

"I would never hurt you, Amélie. Never." Tracer repeated, that same smile on her lips, her eyes still glowing with such a painfully obvious mixture of affection and sorrow when she reached out with a weak hand to touch Widowmaker's blue cheek.

And unlike the last person who tried to touch Widow, she allowed it this time, too overwhelmed by the situation and too caught up in the strange warm feeling which started to surround her frozen heart. Maybe it was because a part of her thought it was supposed to be this way, maybe it was because she seemed to remember something forgotten.

Widowmaker didn't know the reason.

She just knew that Tracer's hot touch on her cold cheek felt good. It gave Widow a strange feeling of safety, and it seemed like it was oddly familiar. _Very_ familiar. It shouldn't have, there was no way it could have, but nevertheless, Widowmaker felt like this strange girl had touched her before today. Soft, hot fingers gently brushed over cold skin, sending an electric spark through the assassin as she subconsciously leaned her face into Tracer's hand just a little bit.

"Please remember, luv. Think back to the belfry. Think about the time we spent together. Please remember me." Tracer's voice was getting heavy, and she swallowed a sour lump in her throat. "Please." she whispered with eyes starting to tear up again. Tracer had no idea if this would work. She just wanted the woman from a few weeks ago to come back to her. "You have no idea how lost I am without you." Lena sniffled "Come back to me. I beg you, Amélie."

_Amélie..._

The name sunk into Widowmaker's head as she slowly blinked. She had heard this name spoken from these lips before in another time, in another life. There was ... she had...

Suddenly the faint headache in the back of her skull violently exploded, like someone had smacked her across the head with a shovel, tossing Widow's consciousness into an endless dark ocean filled with black water. For a short moment she felt like she was drowning, but when the floods had consumed her and her lungs seemed like bursting, Amélie noticed that she could breathe freely, despite feeling like she was submerged in water. The water around her looked like it was boiling, bubbles rapidly rising to the surface while she sank deeper and deeper toward the ground. Before long Amélie found herself inside some kind of belfry. There was a weekly market on the civic center down below and Widowmaker recalled watching someone.

Not for Talon, but for herself. Widowmaker remembered that she wanted to be there, closer to the woman she was watching, but she didn't dare to actually follow through with that desire.

The images she saw were blurry, but Widowmaker was sure that she had definitely been there. Somehow. She lacked any feeling of time, but suddenly the girl which was currently lying on the floor on a rooftop in Numbani was with her inside that belfry, far, far away, straddling her with a teasing smirk.

_Tracer._

A second later, Widow was the one who leaned forward for a kiss. She could almost feel the warmth of Tracer's lips. She could almost smell her sweet scent as she remembered closing her eyes. The moment their lips softly brushed against each other was a short one.

And in exactly that moment, those intriguing brown eyes, the caring smile and happy voice which could only belong to one person and one person alone, tore the artificially implemented wall in Widowmaker's head down with a huge sledgehammer. Tracer's words were the ultimate battering ram, forcing her to remember what she thought was left forgotten.

_TRACER!_

A terrible stinging pain flooded her head and Widowmaker cringed, squeezing her eyes shut as a wave of confusing desires and forgotten fantasies washed over her. She didn't understand. What in the name of all the seven hells was going on?! Why was she seeing these stupid visions? These pictures and fantasies, these... _memories._ Were they memories of what happened?

Did she know Tracer before? Was she fond of the bubbly Overwatch agent? Did she actually kiss the Brit? Widowmaker was so confused as another wave of blurry images and distorted voices flooded into her mind.

_A dark alley. A stinging pain in her abdomen. "Letting you bleed to death would be just like killing you." A gentle touch. Being carried by a warm body. A caring smile._

_"She lost a lot of blood, Angela. God, please help me!" Eyes filled with tears. A voice full of concern and panic. Badly shaking hands desperately trying to stop her from bleeding to death._

_"What'cha looking at, luv?" A cheeky wink. A bite off a red apple. Warmth and affection._

_"You know, if you want to ask me out, you just have to do so." Genuine interest. Hot hands caressing cold wrists. Beautiful warm brown eyes peering into cold golden ones._

_"I will make you remember!" hurting glances. A horrible decision. A painful goodbye._

_"Why would I want to hurt the girl of my dreams?" A serious question._

The memories of what happened between her and Tracer washed over her like a giant waterfall as she desperately tried to make her way back to the surface of the dark ocean her mind was tossed into.

Widow's head felt like it was about to explode. She squeezed her hands to her temples as if she was trying to not let her head burst open. It felt like she was failing. Someone was cracking her skull open with a dull spoon; Widowmaker was sure of it.

And then, all of a sudden there was a gentle, warm touch again. "Luv?" the woman with a heavy British accent asked. Widowmaker's eyes snapped open, her breathing frantic and shock written all over her stern features. Her eyes fell on Lena's worried face, the concern for Widowmaker clearly apparent, even surpassing her bruises and injuries. "Are you alright? Talk to me!" Tracer pleaded as she pushed herself up on one arm, ignoring the pain in her whole body. Damn, Amélie could land a good punch.

Widowmaker couldn't help but inhale sharply. She had no idea why, but somehow this Brit managed to rip the inhibitors of Talon's memory-wipe, which prevented Amélie from accessing certain parts of her memory, apart like it was nothing but wet toilet paper. She made Widowmaker remember just like she promised she would.

And Amélie remembered.

Everything. The deadly dance they used to dance and how they slowly grew closer and closer. How Tracer made her feel _alive,_ appreciatedand wanted. How strongly Widow desired the Brit with every fiber of her aching body.

_Heaven, what have I done?_

" _Chérie?_ " Widowmaker whispered with trembling voice, looking at the Brit, whose expression started to glow when she heard this one, softly spoken word which Widow only and solely used when referring to Tracer.

"Thank God, you remember! Thank you!" Tracer gasped with wide eyes. "I am here, luv. I won't go anywhere else" Lena promised and tried to smile while her heart was beating faster and faster. She did it! She managed to get Widow to remember! Lena didn't know a word which could have described how she was feeling right now.

Yet Widowmaker didn't understand. The images she saw were hazy, but there was a memory of Tracer and another girl with bright blonde hair. The reason she left Tracer alone. The reason Widowmaker decided to have her memory cleaned up again.

However what Amélie saw now didn't fit together with what she remembered.

"You are ...! You shouldn't be, but why are you...? I don't understand, you... you"

"Slow, luv." Lena said, clumsily trying to catch Amélie's shaking hands in her own. God, her head was killing her. She had never been hit in the face so hard ever before. "Talk to me"

Widowmaker opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, trying to find the right words while, at the same time, coping with the huge amount of memories suddenly available to her. It was overwhelming, to put it in simple terms.

She remembered Tracer picking her up in the dirty alley. She remembered being carried to Oxton's apartment where the Brit tended to her wounds. Amélie also remembered watching Tracer for days, fearing what would happen if she'd approach her. Of course she also remembered what happened in the belfry. Their mutual affection; their passionate kisses shared while tightly embracing each other and of course Amélie's biggest mistake: their goodbye.

But Widowmaker remembered visiting Tracer one evening as well. Or at least she wanted to. She remembered being on the balcony in front of Lena's living-room, seeing her with that other blonde girl. Amélie remembered the reason why she returned to Talon to have her memory cleared again.

So why was Tracer here now? She looked genuinely worried about Widow and obviously cared a lot. She wouldn't have let Amélie beat her up if she didn't care. And that didn't exactly make the most sense if there was someone else in her life. What was her deal? Widowmaker was so confused. Was it possible that she maybe misunderstood what she had seen? Was there a different truth to the one she believed to know?

"You should be with that other girl! Why are you here? I left knowing you'd be happy with her, so what are you... you doing here?" Widowmaker didn't understand. She didn't know how to say this. She didn't know anything anymore. Nothing made any sense.

"What are you talking about?" Tracer asked, furrowing a brow. Which girl? _What?_

"I wanted to visit you the last time. I was on your balcony, but you had a visitor. The pretty blonde? I am not that stupid... am I? She even wore your shirt." Widow blurted out, spilling everything unfiltered as it crossed her mind. It was too much. She was too confused, her insides trembling with a sensation Amélie only ever felt in the presence of Tracer.

For a moment Oxton was silent, apparently thinking, before it dawned on her.

"Angela?" Tracer frowned "Are you talking about Mercy?" Lena actually giggled when she heard that. "So, you already kind of met my best friend, luv. My oldest, best, _straight_ friend." Tracer couldn't help but laugh. Talk about misunderstandings.

Widowmaker stared at Tracer with a blank expression. One word stuck in her mind like glue. "S-straight?" she had the confusion written all over her face. What she remembered didn't seem the least bit _straight_. Then again, she couldn't remember having a best friend her whole life, so she'd hardly know the difference, right?

"Yes. She was on vacation and came to check in on me. She was the one who helped me patch you up, when you were shot, remember?" Tracer asked, causing Widow to slowly nod. "She just swung by. I spilled my glass of wine on her shirt; that's why I gave her one of mine. Angela is just a friend, nothing more. I promise. There is only you. Just you. No one else. Never."

"Are you serious?" Widowmaker asked, feeling how a huge weight was lifted off her heavy heart as she stared down at Tracer. The Brit just nodded and Widow knew her cute little annoyance was being absolutely honest in this moment. Her eyes were telling everything about Lena, if you dared to gaze deep enough into them. If Tracer said there was _nothing_ going on between her and Angela, it was this way. Period. Widowmaker _trusted_ Lena. She trusted her before the incident that made her forget and she trusted her now. After Tracer proofed to what lengths she would go for Widow's sake -for the sake of fulfilling a promise- more than ever.

It was like Tracer wanted to say something when movement on the rooftop caught Amélie's attention.

"Hey, you two there! This is a restricted area! What are you doing here?" A man shouted. Tracer turned around to see two policemen, a human and an omnic, approaching them with fast steps. They were both wearing dark blue uniforms with black bulletproof vests. The human cop was reaching for his pistol. "Don't you move!" he ordered with a commandeering, angry voice. "You are both under arrest."

And that was when Lena knew shit was about to hit the fan. She would have really wished that at least sometimes she'd be wrong about these kind of things, but today was apparently not one of those days. The British Overwatch agent barely had time to look over at Widowmaker. The assassin had already grabbed one of Tracer's plasma-pistols from her holster and swung over Lena's body, keeping her pressed to the floor with half a knee and a hand, as if she wanted to make sure Tracer was out of the line of fire. Faster than Tracer could have reacted, Widowmaker emptied half a magazine of the rapid firing plasma pistol into the human cop, while Tracer was left with no other choice but to watch from basically underneath her. It was a strange angle. Strange but very... stimulating. Widowmaker's skintight bodysuit didn't leave a lot to Lena's imagination, however inappropriate this was to notice in a situation like this.

Moments later, the Omnic policeman suffered a similar fate as his human colleague. The bodies hadn't even hit the floor yet, when Widowmaker was already at her feet again, hurrying over to the two policemen. She wouldn't allow anyone to interrupt again. Widowmaker would _never_ allow someone to give Tracer crap for the things Widow did, yet alone arrest her. How _dare_ they interrupt this and expect to walk away from it! She stared at the two cops who were stupid enough to make their presence known to the French assassin. Annoying pests.

Lena thought Amélie would check if they both were really dead.

And Widowmaker kind of did and didn't. She _did_ make sure they were dead. She didn't really _check_. Wearing a face of disgust the assassin looked down on her two victims and, without any hesitation, Widow shot the omnic in the head, before she turned to the human. He was coughing up blood, likely trying to beg for his life, before Widow once again squeezed the trigger, blasting a hole in his head as well. Now there was no doubt left that those two fools wouldn't get up again.

Tracer was left with no other choice but watch Amélie murder those two cops. And a part of her wanted to yell out for her to stop.

But Lena didn't.

She couldn't.

This wasn't Amélie's fault, Tracer had to remind herself over and over again of that fact. It was Talon who made her like this, who forced her to become who she was now. And Tracer despised them for it.

_Them._

Not _her._ Widow just did was she thought was best. She did what people taught her to do, and some sick fuck at Talon decided it had to be killing.

Lena saw how a one-sided smile was spread over Amélie's lips as the French assassin took a fraction of a second to relish the feeling of taking another one's life.

It was her satisfaction.

Widowmaker turned around to look at Tracer, who was trying to sit up a few meters away from her. And Amélie's face suddenly relaxed when her eyes fell on Lena again. The Brit was having difficulties picking herself up, while she tried to hide a mortified look on her face.

 _Right_. It had been her satisfaction.

And now there was _her._ With her bright smile and warm eyes, she was everything Amélie could have hoped for and possibly even more. Now that she remembered, Widow felt like a fool for ever wanting to forget. It had been such a stupid decision.

Walking back to Tracer, she pushed these thoughts aside for now. Chances were the omnic managed to contact police-HQ, Widowmaker should have shot him first, but the human had the pistol already risen. The more dangerous threat dies first, most basic rule of engagement.

But now there were most likely more security forces en route. "Time to get going, don't you think?" she said, a little hint of insecurity in her voice. "I'd really like to talk to you for a little bit" Widowmaker added, her eyes meeting Lena's for a second. She would never understand how the Brit could be so positive about everything, even now she was still trying to pull off a shaky smile. Amélie quickly looked away, Lena's gaze too intense for the moment "If that's ok" she added in a whisper.

Insecure Widowmaker was something terribly cute. Something Tracer hadn't seen before and something which made her almost forget about the two dead cops lying on the rooftop.

 _Almost._ Still, she really had to address this now or Tracer knew the topic would never come up again.

"You killed them." Tracer stated. She wasn't sure why Amélie did it apart from being used to it. They didn't technically do anything _major_ wrong, so Tracer was sure that the problem could have been solved with some smiles and smooth talking. And diverting attention from the fact that they were both armed... and part of terror-organizations. Which Overwatch was as well, not only Talon. At least officially.

"I did" Widowmaker replied. For her the decision was a no-brainer for one terribly simple reason.

"Why?" Lena wanted to know and Amélie greatly appreciated that Tracer didn't sound like she was judging Widow for the actions she took. Tracer made that question sound like general curiosity and not like she was trying to scold Amélie for something she did wrong.

"The human had a gun. He was going to shoot; they always do. You think I'd let them shoot at you? I am the only one who gets to hurt you" Widowmaker replied, trying to hide her concerns for Tracer behind some feigned bossy attitude, and yet Lena saw right through her.

"Aww, you wanted to protect me, luv? Is that it?" Lena cocked her head sideways in a cute manner "You don't have to, you know?" she said with a wide smile and glistering eyes. Widowmaker yet again had to look away so Tracer wouldn't see the rapid pink blush spreading over her cheeks.

"Stop uttering nonsense! I didn't want to go to jail you idiot. What do you think they'd do to me there? Or Talon, once they find out?"

Widowmaker tried to defuse the situation for her. But no matter how much jesting there was in this statement, there also was some truth to it. And suddenly Tracer understood why Amélie always shot on sight. If she was ever to be captured, no amount of smooth talking would get her out of the gigantic mess she'd be stuck in. Those two policemen had to be taken care of or else it would have been not only Widowmaker who'd have suffered the consequences, but Tracer as well.

And she didn't even want to think about the cruel implications of Widow's last statement. What would Talon do in such a case? Bust her out? Probably. Followed by some highly painful punishment. Most likely.

Still, killing the two cops was cruel. But that was the price of Widow's freedom and Tracer got the feeling she'd have to make some tough decisions in the future if she wanted to enable her a rudimentary normal life in freedom.

The truth was, Tracer wanted nothing more than a normal life for Amélie. She deserved it so much, she deserved to leave this horrible mess behind her and have enough time to peacefully heal from what was done to her. And if she'd allow it, Tracer would stay right at her side, helping her however possible.

"Can we leave now?" Widowmaker asked, suddenly back to a way more nervous self.

"Of course." Lena nodded, trying to pick herself up from the floor before two slender but strong arms helped her to her feet.

"I am really sorry" Amélie whispered, looking at Tracer with apologetic eyes. The bubbly Brit just giggled as Widowmaker helped her toward the staircase. "For hitting you and... everything else"

"Don't be, luv. I knew this could happen. It's fine, really. I just want my Widow back, ok? I just want you back." Tracer replied with a happy smile. She didn't dare to call the assassin _her Amélie_ yet. She wasn't sure if the French girl would ever be anyone's Amélie again, so Tracer decided against it.

But that was something to dwell on another day. Today their reunion went unexpectedly smooth. She didn't even want to begin to think about how many things could have gone wrong. So, two dead policemen were somehow a none too negative result. Tracer frowned at the thought, Widowmaker really was no good influence. But she honestly couldn't care less.

When the door leading outside into the bright public place in front of the museum was opened, Tracer raised a hand to her head, shielding her eyes from the strong rays of the slowly sinking evening sun. Everything was bathed in beautifully warm orange light. Numbani's major was still talking to the public in what seemed to be a heated and emotional speech, while Widowmaker and Tracer found themselves in an ocean of people.

Noticing that Tracer was slowing down, Amélie adjusted her pacing so Tracer wouldn't trip over until they both were standing in the middle of a large crowd. "What's the matter, _chérie_?" Widow asked, bringing a smile to Tracer's lips. The way Amélie pronounced the word _chérie_ andthe way it sounded in Lena's ears made her heart skip a beat or two. She beamed at Amélie, her radiance glowing with happiness which let the bad bruises in her face fade in comparison.

"Today was a good day" she finally said, wrapping her arms around Widow's waist and leaning a little closer to Widowmaker, not caring what the people around them would think. She could smell the wonderful scent of Amélie's perfume already, but didn't quite dare kiss the other woman yet. A part of Tracer wanted to make sure everything was alright on Widow's end. It must have been difficult to suddenly remember so many things all at once. No matter how much Lena wanted to taste those intriguing purple lips again, she was not sure if this would be too fast for Amélie. They had time. There was no rush. She made the first step, but left the rest to her partner in crime.

A gentle smile tugged on Amélie's lips, feeling the warmth radiating off Tracer once again confirming the feeling she had in her visions and memories. This was what made her feel more _alive_ than anything else ever could. This was the woman, who made her _feel_ again. Who made breathing freely easy and who made everything else around her seem unimportant.

There was a cold, soft and careful touch on Tracer's lips as Widowmaker gently brought them together.

And just when Tracer's eyes were about to slowly close, embracing the moment and relishing in Widow's embrace, the world around them turned to chaos. A blinding bright light caught the attention of both women followed by a powerful blast wave washing over the civic center and an all deafening explosion. The ground started shaking, and people were frozen solid for a moment as everyone took a moment to realize what was going on.

Their heads spun around to see a huge mushroom of fire rise into the air, exactly where the wooden stage had been before. Where a second prior Numbani's major had been talking, there was now a huge fireball. Maybe it was because of the noise of the explosion, but there was an odd moment of complete silence while debris and pieces of various different sizes and materials raced through the air.

Tracer had seen her fair share of explosions. But not one was so close to her. _This feels strangely peaceful_ she thought, looking at a dark dot which was growing in size, as if it was coming closer.

_Strange._

It was just as if the dark object was getting closer. What was that thing?

Maybe it was a piece of wood or something.

It was wood. From the stage.

 _Oh shit,_ was all the Overwatch agent managed to think, before her world turned dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, do you have a dollar you don't need? I'm just joking ofc, but you know, if you want to support the story, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction


	11. Zürich, Zürich

_Breaking News:_ _"Reports of a possible terroristic attack on Numbani reach the studio. The situation is unclear as of now, but according to well-informed quarters a bomb was detonated at Devaraja Ramachandran's public speech concerning the possible harmony between humans and Omnics. The number of casualties is not yet determined, but is said to be at least seventy. The major was confirmed to be among the victims. A spokesman of the Numbani security battalion (NSB) let it be known that until now no organization claimed to be responsible for the attack. Connections to Talon however do seem to be reasonable._

_Numbani has been placed under martial law for an indefinite amount of time, the generals of NSB were put in charge of all governing and constitutional responsibilities._

_The Federal Foreign Office issued a travel warning for Numbani and the surrounding areas._

_While the dust of this horrible attack clears, voices blaming the local security forces are getting louder. In the past national defense and police forces worldwide failed to proof that they are capable of reliably defending their citizens from terroristic attacks. Both the Omnic rebels as well as Talon achieved key-victories in the past years. More and more people are demanding a appropriate reaction from the UN, namely the abolishment of the Petras-act and the immediate re-establishment of Overwatch._

_As of now there hasn't been an official statement on behalf of the UN._

_We will keep you updated on the situation, should new information become available._

_You heard it first on BBC America, from our studio in Los Angeles, Britney Silverman"_

* * *

-/-

**Congress of international medical affairs, Zürich, a few hours earlier**

Mercy came out of the quiet little hallway she had used to talk with Tracer and walked back to the main area of the night's event. It was a sublime formal reception, with mandatory evening attire, where all the invited guests gathered to talk about the various different presentations of their colleagues the days prior to the gala. The smartest heads the medical world had to offer came together to present their newest breakthroughs in their research, giving the expert audience the opportunity to evaluate the research while also hoping to draw the attention of wealthy investors to themselves.

Dr. Ziegler, despite not presenting research on her own, had been invited to give a speech this evening in front of the entire audience. She was the guest of honor, having won two Nobel-prizes for her ground breaking work in nanobiology. Though Mercy would never admit it, she was preeminent in her field. And now she was here, in Zürich, mingling with all the other practitioners. Part of her felt terribly out of place... which might have been due to her wardrobe. It had been years since the last time Angela wore evening attire. She was so used to white lab coats or her Valkyrie-suit that something like her white, form fitting cocktail-dress made her almost feel uncomfortable. It was most likely the fact that the dress was backless and Mercy kind of cursed herself for thinking it was a good idea buying something like this on a whim. A whim and the look her bodyguard gave her when they went shopping for today.

Luckily it was 'only' her attire, which made Angela feel a little strange. The speech itself was something Mercy was actually looking forward to. It had been quite some time since she had been at one of these gatherings, and she would have been lying if she said that the attention and respect people paid her wasn't nice on some level. Still, Angela wished the same kind of dedication her colleagues put up to appeal to her would flow towards helping those in need.

She shouldn't complain. Most of the scientists and researchers inside the beautiful, hyper-modern event-hall in the heart of Zürich dedicated their life to exactly that purpose.

"Are you alright, Ma'am?" someone asked and Mercy turned a bit to her left. Her eyes fell on her bodyguard, who came along because Winston insisted on it. Or better yet, because the Egyptian spent enough time talking Winston into it, telling him that in times like these, with Talon on the hunt for Overwatch-agents, it would be close to suicide letting the one and only Dr. Ziegler, their greatest resource and biggest advantage, walk around in open public without at least _some_ form of personal security. Mercy naturally protested heavily, but in the end her reasonable side, and Winston, won.

That was why Fareeha Amari was now standing next to Angela, wearing an admittedly very sharp looking black suit with a light grey button down shirt and black tie. Her hair was partly pulled back into a ponytail, but the golden ornaments she wore in the bangs on the front were still hanging down to the sides of her face. Together, with her stern features and seeing how tall Pharah was, she really left a striking expression of someone you should not mess with.

"I'm fine, don't worry. Just a little nervous, that's all" Angela replied with a smile. "And I already told you, could you please-" _drop the Ma'am?_

"No. As long as I am on duty, it stays." Fareeha said before quickly realizing how harsh she just sounded. Being around Mercy made her act strangely, and it was really bothering her. Maybe it was because she had been idolizing the woman since the day she had first met her. Years ago, on the one day her mother took her with her to the Watchpoint, Mercy had been there as well alongside some other Overwatch-agents and they all took a picture together. But of all the people she had met that day, it was Mercy who was stuck in Fareeha's head. She had been so nice to her on that day, showing her around and talking to her about so many things, when her own mother had more important things to take care of than her daughter. Whenever Fareeha thought back to that day, she automatically thought about Mercy as well. These memories were one and the same. "I-I mean, if I call you by your name, people might think I am your date or something" she quickly added in an attempt to fix her fuckup.

Mercy just smirked "Oh, you wouldn't want to be my date then?" she asked, and cursed the influence Tracer had on her as soon as the words had left her lips.

Poor Pharah turned completely red from one moment to the next, searching for something correct to say in this situation. "N-No, that's not what I meant, I just thought that-"

Mercy cut her off with a silent laugh "Relax, Ms. Amari. I was just messing with you, don't worry about it. You want to separate business from private matters. I appreciate that." She said with a supportive nod. Damn, now Angela felt bad; she only wanted to make a joke to lighten up the mood, not upset her bodyguard.

"Thank you for your consideration, Ma'am" Amari replied after catching her breath. Angela just smiled, as she couldn't help but notice how different Fareeha was now from the last time she had seen her. Back then, Ana's daughter was a child, lively and curious about everything. To her, everything concerning Overwatch was nothing short of a miracle, at least judging from the excited spark which had been glowing in little Fareeha's eyes.

Seeing her again so many years later was almost a bit sad for Angela. The overexcited little girl was gone, replaced by a dead-serious woman, with the utmost no-nonsense attitude Angela had seen in a long time. Her eyes had lost that lively excitement from the past, and had aged years past Fareeha's actual age. When Angela looked at the Egyptian now, she had difficulties seeing the happy little girl who she got to know in the old days. Now, Fareeha reminded Angela a lot of Ana in her younger years. Loyal to the cause beyond any imagination, and driven solely by purpose and honor. It was almost scary how similar to her mother the daughter had grown up to be. Scary and sad. There never was a lot of room for warmth and affection in Ana's heart. But Mercy was sure that the mother would be proud of her daughter.

Just as Angela wanted to comment on that, a man in an expensive khaki suit, standing on a tiny stage with a lectern made of glass on top of it, tapped the microphone two times before clearing his throat. His voice was carried into the event-hall by speakers placed to the sides of the stage and around the room.

 _"Ladies and gentlemen. May I have your attention for a moment please?"_ he started, pausing for a second to allow the audience to calm down and turn toward the stage, which was placed in front of two giant semicircular staircases made of beautiful white marble. In between the two stairs was a great fountain with a large, all natural black rock inside. It reached almost up to the third floor and was framed by the white stairs. The stage was placed in front of it, blocking the entrance to the stairs.

_"As you all know, today's evening concludes our annual congress of medical affairs. It has been a very interesting, innovative, and especially exciting event for all of us, and it pains me that this great happening comes to an end today. But something is still missing and those of you, who are attending this event on an annual basis, might already know what that is. As usual we prepared a very special guest for all of you; someone you all may aspire to be like and someone who may widen the horizon of all of us."_

The man made a small pause, seeking out Angela with his eyes. The doctor was already walking towards the stage, Fareeha following shortly behind her. The Egyptian was alert as usual and had an eye on the crowd surrounding them. She somehow got the feeling that things weren't the way they were supposed to be. Something was amiss, yet Fareeha couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly.

There were so many eyes on them, and Pharah was certain, some of them weren't just looking at Mercy with interest. Some of the guests looked at her like they had an eye on her movements, and that worried Pharah. Still, maybe she was overreacting. Angela was someone very famous in medical spheres. So maybe she got those looks everywhere? Fareeha doubted it and quickly checked if her handgun, which she carried under her jacket was still in place. _Just in case._

Someone very suspicious caught her attention in the far corner of the room, and she was about to reach out for Mercy to stop her from going on the stage, but then the suspicious guy Fareeha saw appeared harmless again. He seemed to just search a toilet. Thus, she didn't say anything and just followed Mercy on the stage.

 _"Tonight's guest has won two Nobel-prizes for applied nanoscience and medicine. She has fought for years on the frontlines of the Omnic-wars and, as far as we know, she also is the only one who can resurrect the dead. Our special guest for the 67th annual congress of medical affairs is not only a brilliant mind, but also a true hero and role model for all of us."_ The man, who was the president of the world medical association, continued, making Angela blush slightly. She wasn't used to such praise and, quite frankly, she wasn't too comfortable with it either. At all times she just did what needed to be done. Still, it was nice that people thought so highly of her.

_"Ladies and Gentlemen, I am sure you all know who I am talking about. Please give her a warm welcome: Dr. Angela Ziegler"_

Mercy smiled and thanked the president of the medical association as she went up to the rostrum while people were applauding loudly.

At least most of them were.

Some guests seemed to be searching something. They were pushing through the audience toward the small stage. One of them reached up to his ear and pressed a finger to it. It didn't escape Fareeha's watchful eyes.

Her attention darted toward the large glass doors, which were the main entrance. Outside were the dark streets of Zürich... And an unusual number of black SUVs. Pharah immediately realized what was going on.

_Fuck!_

Without hesitation, she almost jumped forward and pulled Mercy away from the lectern in exactly the same moment in which the huge glass front of the event-hall exploded. The vehicles which had been parked outside a moment prior, crashed through the glass walls and inside the building, sending broken bits of glass flying into the crowd. Tires squeaked on the polished floor of the hall while the large SUVs were locking the entrance.

There was a moment of completely out of place silence before chaos erupted.

The heavy doors of the cars opened and soldiers in battle armor darted out, their heavy military boots stomping on the ground. The doors of the driver and his passenger were used as shield while the barrels of rifles were pushed through in between the gap of door and car.

While the guests screamed in panic and tried to run away from the soldiers rapidly closing in on them the private security organization tasked with the safety of this event attempted to attack the black clad soldiers. The assailants were moving in small squads of three people, each group apparently tasked with another objective which they were carrying out with precision.

The private security firm however was hopelessly outclassed. In a matter of moments their employees were mercilessly gunned down by blazing assault rifle fire from the SUVs' position.

Mercy only felt how Pharah grabbed her rather roughly and pulled her off the stage in just the same moment when the president of this event got riddled with bullets. The doctor didn't notice an awful lot apart from Fareeha's strong grip on her, while the Egyptian quickly pulled them into cover.

"Keep your head down!" she ordered, an elbow pressed roughly to Angela's chest, making sure she wouldn't run off in panic, while Fareeha reached for her gun.

"I know how to handle myself in battle, thank you" Mercy replied dryly. Still, she could understand Pharah's reaction, as bullets were whipping past their heads and people screaming in panic. Fareeha was here to protect the doctor, she was just doing her job. And the Egyptian had never fought alongside Mercy, she had no way of knowing that, if worst comes to worst, the gentle Swiss doctor could just as well dish out damage as she could heal her comrades.

Not that Mercy particularly enjoyed the heat of a battle, like Tracer or Reinhardt always did. To them the fight was the ultimate kick, the proof of their capabilities, their wits, their skill, their strength and their tactical prowess. The battlefield was their ground to shine. To Mercy it was the complete opposite. Battle was no ground to shine, it was a shameful testimony of failure. It should never come to a fight, no matter how bad the dispute was. To her violence always was the last resort, the final means, should all other possibilities fail. Or in case you needed to defend yourself and your loved ones.

Much like now. The rattling of gunfire and empty casings crashing to the ground filled the event hall, almost drowning out the sound of Mercy's rapidly beating heart in her chest.

Damn, it had been a while since someone had been shooting at her. It was a feeling she could have lived without. She turned to Pharah, who pressed a hand to her ear, using her communicator.

"Pharah to HQ, come in! Athena are you there?" she yelled over the loud cracking of gunfire, quickly peeking out of cover to evaluate how much time they had left until the soldiers would have worked their way through the crowd and to their point of hiding. "We are under attack. A large number of enemy forces. I got Dr. Ziegler with me, but we need a taxi ASAP. RV-point blue or yellow, preferably."

Pharah was silent for a moment, in which she leaned out of cover for a second, taking potshots at the enemy while trying to not shoot the next civilian in his back. Mercy didn't understand Athena's reply, to her the AI's voice was nothing but a faint buzz coming out of Fareeha's earpiece. But judging from the way the Egyptian's body stiffened up for a second, she didn't like what Athena had to say. Not one bit.

"What!?" she suddenly yelled, her face contorted with dismay. Her back crashed back into cover and Mercy noticed how the Egyptian gave her look full of worry and concern. The doctor kept silent and shot her protector a reassuring smile. She was sure Pharah would handle this situation the best she could.

Fareeha's face froze solid and she definitely lost all of her warm chocolate brown color. "We don't _have_ two hours!" she screamed. "Fuck!" cursing loudly Pharah quickly thought of other options. There had to be a way to get out of here and to a safe place! Something, anything really. She would _never_ allow that anything happens to Mercy. _Never._ There was no one like her, no one this gentle, no one this heartfelt, or this caring like Angela Ziegler. Even now the doctor was smiling at her, her head cutely tilted to the side. Fareeha would not disappoint her. She would not fail.

"Ma'am" the Egyptian said, grabbing Mercy's hand and squeezing it tightly. "I _will_ get you out of here. I promise!" Fareeha's eyes were stern and burning with determination, even though her voice was starting to tremble. She had an expression on her face, which Angela couldn't quite place. Was it concern? Was it fear? Whatever it was, Angela could tell her bodyguard was promising this to herself as much as she did to the doctor.

So, Mercy smiled once again. "I know you will" she reassured with a nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to support the story, you can do so here. Purely voluntarily, but greatly appreciated.
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction


	12. Make me feel

**Numbani, unknown location, unknown time**

Tracer opened her eyes to a ceiling she had definitely never seen before. And even if she did, chances were Lena would have suppressed that memory already. It was most likely the oldest, ugliest, and easily most rotten ceiling in existence. The wooden panels were in such bad shape, Lena was actually surprised they hadn't crashed down on her head yet.

Hang on, wood crashing to her head? That did ring a bell. With a silent groan, Tracer quickly reached up to her forehead, checking that, yes indeed, her head was still there. Strangely enough it didn't hurt at all. It should have. If not for whatever reason she got knocked out, then at least because of Widowmaker's rifle-stock which got smashed into her face.

" _Bonjour, chérie_ " a soft voice, like it could only belong to one person in the entire world, said, causing Lena to smile and turn her head to her right. Her eyes found who she was hoping for. Sitting on an old chair, one of her long legs crossed over the other and having a book in her lap, was Widowmaker, looking at Tracer with a happy expression. The window behind her was open, and the sun was shining down on the French assassin, making her purple hair shimmer like it was silk and her blue skin glow. The sounds of the city outside came through the window, but were distant and not bothersome at all.

"Do you get a feeling of Déjà-vu as well, luv?" Tracer asked and giggled cutely. If someone had told her that she would wake up in what apparently was Widowmaker's bed in much a similar situation Amélie had been in back in London, Tracer wouldn't have believed a word. But now here she was, with reversed roles, Widow watching over her while she was passed out in the bed.

"I suppose so" Widow replied, looking down at her book for a moment only to escape Lena's glance. The way she looked at her was heavy with emotion and overflowing affection, and Widowmaker felt kind of unworthy to receive such a look.

She had done so many bad things to the Brit. So many things which would have driven anyone else away. But not Tracer; she stuck to her side no matter what. She was there, making true on her word and helping Widow remember what was left forgotten. She was there, just like she promised, taking everything Amélie threw at her like it was nothing.

Widowmaker really felt bad for what happened. For how she reacted, not only on the rooftop, but also back in London a few days ago. She shouldn't have just left. She should have said something. But she didn't, and ultimately it was Lena who had to pay the price for it. That was not right, and Widow would try and somehow make it up to the bubbly Overwatch agent. It was strange how this was the very first time, in all of the life she remembered, that Widowmaker felt something close to remorse or guilt for hurting someone else. She didn't really understand why that was and, truth be told, she gave up on thinking about why Tracer turned everything she thought to know about herself upside down. Instead, Widow just accepted that everything concerning Tracer was already working under special rules, so why not that as well?

"You know, I wouldn't mind waking up to that sight more often" Lena smiled teasingly "Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" she asked, sitting up in the bed, freeing her upper body from the thin blanket. She noticed that Amélie had taken off her old bomber jacket, so she would be more comfortable, but didn't rid her of any more clothing. Somehow this was a really cute gesture. Like the otherwise highly confident assassin was too shy to go any further.

"And do you know that you are the only person I'd ever allow to call me that?" Widowmaker returned, looking up from her lap again, yet the dark meaning behind her words was lost to Tracer. She didn't know that Amélie had literally killed people for saying that, and now that she looked at the Brit in her bed, smiling at her like there was no tomorrow, being so honestly happy just because Widow was there, the assassin knew that no matter what, Lena must never know.

Damn, that girl was such an idiot at times. Why else would she have chased after someone like Widowmaker in the first place? You must be a special kind of stupid to romantically pursue your enemy. Yet, Tracer did, even if only subconsciously, over and over and over again. She got herself hurt because of Widowmaker. She got herself into trouble because of Widowmaker. And she let Widowmaker beat her up also and solely because of, you guessed it, Widowmaker. Thus that made Lena Oxton an idiot. But she was a loyal idiot. And she was _her_ idiot. And Amélie knew from the moment she had left the Brit's bed after she had been saved that no matter what, she wouldn't want it any other way.

That lively giggle, the almost painful and completely ungrounded positive attitude, her warm eyes and caring smile; it must never go away.

If Widowmaker had been aware of how much Tracer actually knew about her dark past and what unspeakably cruel things Talon had done to her she might have come to a different conclusion. But Amélie didn't know, and so, she thought it was best to not taint Tracer's pure soul with dark thoughts and topics.

She thought that if Tracer knew the truth of her words, she wouldn't be able to do what she did now. That is, smile happily, as she said: "Well I better hope that I am the only one, luv. Or do you make a habit of kissing other girls in London's belfries?"

That kind of positive attitude toward things was exactly the right way to go about it. No. Widow's dark thoughts would lead exactly nowhere. So, Amélie stroked over her chin, like she was actually having to think about it for a moment. "Well, there was this one girl recently" she said with a one-sided smirk.

"Yeah, that was me, obviously." Tracer replied, rolling her eyes, yet Widowmaker just looked at her with a blank expression, causing Lena's smile to slowly fade away. It had been her, no? There was no way that Amélie had... But she looked so serious and... "It was me? Innit right?"

Widowmaker held that serious expression for a second longer than necessary, a part of her enjoying that Tracer was starting to grow jealous. " _Qui, chérie._ Of course it was you." Amélie finally laughed.

"You are a meanie, you know that?" Lena pouted, turning her head away for a moment. Their playful banter aside, Tracer was really happy for this opportunity. Being together with Widowmaker alone in a room without any rush was good. But even better was that Amélie actually _remembered_ all her previous encounters with Lena.

"I am aware" Widowmaker replied, getting off from her chair and placing the book on top of it before she moved to the bed. She sat on the corner of the mattress right next to Tracer, her hand close to the other girl's. For a moment Lena considered reaching out for Amélie's hand and entangling her fingers with her own, but she decided against it. Lena had no idea where they stood and she really didn't want to rush things.

"How is the head?" Widow suddenly asked, changing both topic as well as tone of her voice completely. From one moment to the next the playful teasing was gone and Amélie was dead serious.

"It's alright. Doesn't really hurt or something" Lena replied with a shrug before she remembered why she was here in the first place. There was an explosion and then... well, she had no idea what happened after the stage and the major were blown to bits. "What happened anyway? The last thing I remember is the explosion. From then on its just darkness until I woke up here" Lena said. She didn't even know how long she had been unconscious. Hours? Days? She had no idea.

Amélie didn't look at Tracer as she explained what happened after Tracer passed out. She feared that if she had looked Tracer in the eyes, the Brit would have been able to tell how scared Widowmaker was when she realized that Lena was knocked out. "A part of the stage hit you on the head and you passed out. It was a good thing that, after the explosion, complete chaos erupted. Otherwise, I wouldn't have managed to carry you to a safe house without anyone noticing." Widowmaker explained.

"Thanks for that, luv. I guess it was a bad place to lose consciousness. Wouldn't have wanted to lie on the ground there with all the people running around, I imagine" Tracer could vividly picture how people were starting to run in panic, trampling anything in their way to death.

" _Non_ , you most definitely wouldn't" Widowmaker agreed with a nod.

"So, what about the explosion?" Lena wanted to know.

"I have thought about that a lot, but I really don't know."

Lena scratched her head "Maybe someone from your club?" she suggested, making Widowmaker shake her head.

" _Non._ It definitely wasn't anyone from Talon, so much is certain."

"Not that I don't believe you, but why are you so sure?" Lena wanted to know.

"First of all, they would never send someone else when I am there as well, that's not how Talon works. Then the handwriting is not Talon at all. They usually don't destroy infrastructure when it isn't their goal or when they can avoid it. My objective was the major, so even if they sent another assassin, it would have been another sniper or someone with poison or whatever, but surely no bomb. The explosion was not Talon's work. Whoever did this was a complete amateur. The work was so sloppy it could have been from a child. That idiot used a huge explosive-charge for what I suppose was only one target. Numbani is going crazy and the whole city is under martial law for the time being."

"What? Why?"

"They suspect it was a terror attack aimed at the people at the speech, not the major. But I call bullshit on that one. The charge was under the stage. It was meant to kill the major. Someone did my job. They just made a huge mess" Widowmaker explained. Tracer was silent for a while after that. There wasn't really a lot she could have done in this moment. The major was obviously dead, and finding out who was responsible was neither part of her mission, nor within her capabilities.

Tracer was just happy that it wasn't Widow who had pulled the trigger. She had completed her personal objective and miraculously managed to get her Widowmaker back. As cold as it may have sounded, but knowing that Tracer couldn't really bring herself to care for the major of Numbani so much. It was tragic, of course, but there was no way she could have foreseen that.

"And what do we do now?" she asked.

"Nothing much we can do. Lay low for a few days until moving is safe again. The only good thing is that the two corpses on the rooftop will not raise too many eyebrows." Amélie shrugged carelessly.

Tracer giggled, moving closer to Widowmaker, carefully wrapping her arms around Amélie's slender waist and gently placing her head on the other woman's shoulder. "You misunderstand, luv. I'll ask again. What do _we_ do now that we are basically locked in this..." Tracer took a short moment to look around in the small apartment... if one could call it that. It was hardly more than one room. There was a bed next to a window, a small couch for two, a corner with a tiny, tiny kitchen, and finally the 'bathroom'. Which was no real bath _room._ It was more a... extra tiny extra room in the size of a shower. There was nothing inside but said shower, a mirror and a light bulb. Most importantly the shower lacked a door to the main room. The entire apartment was a total dump, Lena noticed, before she placed her head back on Amélie's shoulder "...place together? It is just you and me after all, innit right?"

Widowmaker looked at Tracer with amazement. That woman was a walking miracle to her. "How can you be so horribly positive about absolutely everything? Chances are we might not get out of Numbani and all you think of is how you best get into my pants?"

The way Amélie said it, dry as dust and with general curiosity made Tracer laugh even more. It wasn't that Widowmaker's words had been funny. It was the way the assassin apparently had no issues with letting Tracer score, but was in fact more interested in Lena's positive attitude towards basically everything which was just... well, somehow amusing. Even though the answer for this question was hardly funny at all.

"What you wear can hardly be described as pants, luv." Lena smiled "And well, if we get caught anyway, we might as well make the most of it, no?" she chuckled.

"I am serious about this, _chérie._ Where is that endless pool of positivity coming from?" Widowmaker asked, causing the smile on Tracer's lips to fade away. She would have to tell her sooner or later anyway, so now was probably as good a time than any other.

"It's a stupid story" Lena tried to shrug it off, but Widow would have none of it.

"Tell me anyway" she insisted.

"You really want to hear that?" she wanted to know, and Widowmaker just nodded silently. Lena let out a long sigh, before she cleared her throat, sorting through her thoughts. "You know why I wear this?" Tracer asked, pointing at her time-harness.

"It allows you to move faster?" Widow tried, raising an eyebrow. She had never thought that there might be more to that device than a mobility-enhancement.

"That's one effect of it, yes. But not what it is for" Lena said, letting go of Widowmaker and leaning back in the bed a little bit, supporting her body on her elbows. "This thing here is the reason you can see me, talk to me, or even touch me" Lena said, not missing a beat to explain the reason for this.

"You know, years ago I had been a test-pilot for Overwatch. They tried a new type of engine which manipulated the time-field around the jet and should have made the jet move ridiculously fast... at least in theroy" Lena sighed, as particularly unpleasant memories of the day of her accident came back to her. She really would give a lot to forget the time after the crash. "It didn't work, as you may have guessed. The damn thing exploded under my ass a couple of minutes into the first flight and I had to eject. Now don't ask me what happened in detail, because I don't understand half of it myself, but apparently when my body breached through the time-bubble the jet created around itself, the warped timeflow I passed through at such a high speed somehow affected my own inner time, you know? I was gone after that, floating through time like a god damn ghost." Tracer inhaled sharply.

"It was my worst nightmare, just floating through time like it was a sea and without any control about where I went. It was like you were stuck in a movie, yet the movie doesn't know you are even there. Everyone says their lines, completely ignoring your presence. No matter what I did, I couldn't interact with anyone. I screamed, I kicked, I tried to grab them. It was like I wasn't even there. And the worst part was, sometimes people seemed to see me, but as soon as I realized they did see me, I was gone again, floating off to some other time." Tracer shook her head, quickly rubbing over her eyes. She didn't really know how to put the events of what happened in words, and truth to be told, this was the very first time she had ever talked about this. Lena even refused to tell this Angela. It was _hell._ Tracer's worst nightmare which she could not escape from, no matter what she did. She almost went insane.

"Winston saved me though. He built this harness for me. It keeps me anchored in the present. If I take it off, I will vanish into nothingness again. If it is destroyed or stops working? Then I'm gone again. I start flickering like an old TV and after a couple of seconds. Goodbye me! No more Tracer" Tracer tried to laugh, but it ended up as more of a angry snort. "So, to answer your question, that's why I am so positive. Vanishing into nothingness taught me a very valuable lesson. I know how soon things could be over and trust me, life is too short for being gloomy. My time here could end every second. This damn machine could pack up any moment, and when that happens, I don't want to regret a thing. I want to have laughed and smiled and loved and been happy whenever possible. I want to make other people happy and I want them to enjoy life just as much as I do. I want to enjoy every moment to the fullest. Because who knows if they can bring me back a second time? I might be gone for good. Do everything you can. Whenever you can. Wherever you can. And like doing it. Do whatever you can and want, whenever you get the chance to do it. Or in the end you will die thinking 'what would have been'... I hate those words."

Widowmaker was silent for quite some time after that. She didn't know anything about this before now.

Suddenly, she realized that Tracer and her weren't so different at all. They both could be gone from one moment to the next. Lena could vanish in time and Amélie could be completely deleted by Talon. What set them apart from another was their attitude. Where Widow became cynical and almost a little gloomy at times, Tracer did the exact opposite. She lived her life to the fullest as long as she could.

"Sorry, luv, I didn't want to ruin your day with my sob-story. It's not a big deal, really." Lena laughed "I mean, I am here now, and the stuff Winston builds is usually not working at all or made for all eternity. So, I am positive I get to annoy you for at least a little longer." she said, playfully poking Widow in her side.

"So, you cannot take the harness off?" Widowmaker asked, attempting to both change the conversation as well as lighten up the mood. She succeeded in both, indeed bringing a smirk back to Lena's lips. "That's a shame" Amélie added.

"Well, aren't we direct today?" Lena giggled and could have sworn that Widow did blush for a tiny moment "But don't you worry about that. I can take the harness off. It's just for combat. At home I have something like a watch, which keeps me where I belong. I just can't rewind or accelerate like I can with the harness. Not that I wear that thing too often, but who knows. Maybe I will in the future?"

Widowmaker leaned back in the bed just like Lena did, smiling happily while looking at the Brit. She had to admit that she enjoyed Tracer's company a lot. What used to unnerve her to no end when they were still fighting each other was now calming her mind down. Part of her was ashamed that she allowed herself to be memory-cleaned after that stupid misunderstanding, but on the other hand, everything had played out for the better. And now, at least, they knew that Lena was able to make her remember. So, should the goings get rough and Widowmaker be forced to be cleaned again, then at least they knew that Lena could most likely pull the same stunt off another time. And that was incredibly calming.

Just as calming as this peaceful moment they got to share. Normally, Tracer was so lively and outgoing, it made Widow feel better just by being in close proximity, but Amélie had to admit that quiet and calm Tracer was also incredibly alluring. Just looking at Lena was giving Widowmaker the feeling of what other people might have called butterflies in her stomach. Tracer was definitely someone to look at. She was apparently totally okay with Widowmaker blankly staring at her and easy on the eyes on top of that. _Very_ easy on the eyes.

"Would you mind if I take a shower? I kind of feel really filthy" Tracer suddenly asked. "I know you wanted to talk, but I feel like I am glued to the sheets"

"Uhm, no? Go right ahead. It's in the little room over there. We can talk later." Widow said pointing toward the shower, while Tracer got out of the bed. She definitely was easy on the eyes, not only from the front or side, but definitely from behind as well.

" _Chérie?_ " Amélie started, causing Tracer to turn around once again in a very spirited manner. "I hate to admit it, but I... well I don't really know-"

"Lena. Lena Oxton" Tracer replied with a heartfelt smile. "It's what you wanted to know, right?" she added, while walking towards the shower, starting to strip out of her clothing.

"How did you-?" Widow wanted to know dumbstruck, as she heard the shower being turned on and water pelting down.

"I am good with girls, luv. Usually I know what they want or like." Tracer paused, before she added "Or need" like it was but an afterthought, as she stepped under the shower.

Widowmaker stayed on the bed, staring out of the window. _Lena Oxton._ The name fitted the woman. Somehow Tracer seemed like a _Lena._ Not that Widowmaker knew anyone else with that name, but a part of her thought that someone called Lena should be the way Tracer was. She liked the name.

And the girl.

This was it now, wasn't it? They were here. Right in that moment. Together in a crappy room with nowhere else to go. Amélie wouldn't make the same mistake again. She would not allow herself to have any regrets either. Lena was completely right when she said that she didn't want to have anything to look back to one day and wish she'd have done it differently. Not having done the things Widowmaker wanted to do in the first place was what had led to the terrible misunderstanding in London.

That must never happen again.

But still, she didn't want to go too fast either, this -whatever it was they shared- was all so new to her. Suddenly there was someone else in her life; someone who was kind of... just there and didn't expect anything from Widow. Who didn't order her around and who didn't do terrible things to her whenever she didn't comply.

And that was definitely a novelty and also a little scary for Widowmaker. She wasn't used to someone being genuinely _nice_ to her.

But it felt so good.

Tracer's company felt so incredibly good.

She didn't want to risk that. She didn't want to interpret something into Tracer's teasing which wasn't there, she didn't-

Widowmaker looked over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of Tracer, standing under the shower. An old dim light sparsely lit the wet room, draping Lena in warm, orange illumination. The water was pouring out of the small shower head and over her chocolate-brown hair, making it shimmer just like her perfectly shaped and beautifully pale body. Her chronal accelerator was still strapped around Lena's chest, the blue glow reflecting in the wet white tiles of the shower, but somehow Widowmaker wasn't bothered by it. All she could do was marvel Lena's breathtaking beauty, her long, firm legs and perfect hips. The cheeky freckles, which were spread over her shoulders were something Widowmaker actually expected, but seeing them now was still exciting.

And the best thing was, that beauty was actually taking a shower, no less than five meters away from where Amélie was. Right now she thanked god for the lack of a door to the shower, for it was the reason the French assassin could relish the sight of Tracer moving gently under the water, apparently enjoying the warmth of it. Lena's delicate hands were stroking over her pristine skin, leaving quickly fading imprints, where the water was wiped away.

It was just like a forbidden fruit, barely within reach, which was teasing Widow, tempting, almost daring her, with every move Lena made and every word she spoke, to come and pluck it .

Lena was _gay._ They had _kissed_ before and Widow couldn't care less anymore.

-Fuck it.

Lena was actually surprised to see that her face wasn't that badly bruised at all. Nor was there a scar from the wood which had hit her head, at least not from what she saw in the tiny mirror, which was hanging in the wet room. Shower. Whatever.

Which was good, because it meant she didn't look like a fucking zombie because that's, incidentally, what she felt like. But a hot shower would fix that quickly.

And indeed, when Lena turned on the hot water, life was put back to her. Luckily for her the chronal accelerator was waterproof, or it would have been a rather short shower, one way or the other.

No matter how bad the last day had started off, it had turned out the almost best way possible. Ok, admittedly, it wasn't too great that Numbani's major bit the dust, but there wasn't anything Lena could have done against it. No one thought there could have been another assassin besides Widowmaker. And she _did_ stop her from doing what she came here for, so the mission was a success in Lena's book. Not that she cared for the mission at all. She cared for Amélie, and knowing that the French girl was safe and sound in the same room with her made it impossible for Lena to really worry about anything else.

She just wondered how fast she should go with Amélie from here on. It must have been stressful for her to suddenly remember everything they had shared and possibly even more. She didn't want her to feel like she urged her to do anything. Amélie should feel comfortable and Tracer promised herself to take things slow to ensure just that. Her own burning desires could wait for now, it wasn't like she hadn't dealt with that kind of trouble before.

Besides-

Tracer's train of thought came to a _very_ abrupt stop.

Suddenly, cold hands glided down her back and around her waist before someone pressed a series of cold kisses up her shoulder and towards her neck, sending an overexcited shiver up and down Tracer's spine and making her gasp.

"Interesting idea of talking you have, luv" she hummed in bliss as Amélie's lips found that particularly sensitive spot under Tracer's ear.

"Is talking really what you have in mind for now, _chérie?_ " Widowmaker murmured in Tracer's ear, her voice needy and her touch strong before she sucked on Tracer's earlobe.

Tracer felt the heat rise in her body, spreading into her head and clouding her mind. Soon enough she would be lost in the moment, a slave to her own desires, all thanks to Amélie's strong touch and affectionate attention. Somehow it was cruel how Widow was standing right behind her, holding the Brit tightly while she administered more kisses to her neck.

And here Tracer was, thinking she was usually the sexually dominant partner, when all she could do now was stand there and submit to Widowmaker who seemed to have little difficulty in turning Lena Oxton into a warm piece of butter, melting away under the hot water of the shower.

Yet there was one thing Tracer needed to know before she would allow this to go any further. And it was only due to this one missing piece of information, this little uncertainty, that she managed to keep control of her rapidly flustering mind.

"It isn't" Tracer replied, making an effort to turn around in Amélie's arms, before she faced Widowmaker. She had joined Tracer in the shower, not even bothering stripping out of her bodysuit. The water pelting down on the latex of her suit made a loud noise, silencing their heavy breathing. Their noses were almost touching, and the French girl's eyes were glazed over with lust and desire so much that Tracer almost dropped the matter. _Almost._

"But I want to be sure that this is what you want. What you _really_ wish for and desire. You don't have to do this, if you don't want to, you don't have to feel compelled to do anything just bec-" Tracer wanted to say that she didn't want Widowmaker to feel guilty for what happened, and that she didn't want her to do this in an attempt to make up for something Amélie thought she needed to apologize for. But Lena was shut up by Widow's lips, which sealed her own in a hot, yet excitingly cold, kiss.

"You talk too much, _chérie_ " Amélie whispered, pressing her body closer to Tracer. "You really think I'd have kissed you if it wasn't what I wanted? Or that I'd join you in the shower like this, if it wasn't what I wanted? This is _exactly_ what I want. _You_ are exactly what I want; what I need." Amélie said, as she reached up to cup Lena's face. She sounded absolutely convinced of it. There was an unwavering honesty in her eyes which was so crystal clear that all of Tracer's shallow concerns were immediately overcome.

"Well then" Lena smiled naughtily, eyeing Widow up. She indeed was standing in the shower with Tracer in her impossibly tight bodysuit. "Let me help you out of this, luv" she reached up to Widowmaker's neck to unclasp the carbon fiber buckles on the back of it while Amélie's arms fell to her sides. Her skin tight latex suit split in half and Lena slowly peeled it off the French assassin's beautifully blue skin.

Lena took her time, carefully pressing soft kisses over the right side of Widow's cold body, just after she had peeled another inch of the suit away, like she meant to replace the latex with her lips. The hot water from the shower was making her skin appear like a blue diamond, and Lena was intoxicated by the other woman's wonderful scent.

"You are enjoying this, aren't you?" Widowmaker asked between breaths. She had never suspected that someone slowly undressing her in such a way would arouse her so ridiculously much. But Lena didn't only undress her, she was making an art out of it. The way her hot hands moved over Widow's cold body, slowly and very carefully exposing her skin, while her mouth was on so many different places in what seemed to be the same time, Widowmaker was already going crazy just from the undressing part.

"Waited long enough for it" Lena murmured, as she kneeled down in front of Widowmaker, stripping the bodisuit over her waist and slowly helping her out of each leg, pressing hot kisses on the top of Amélie's thigh while she placed the foot on her hip. She purposefully ignored the most important area of interest for now, knowing Widow's womanhood would receive more than enough attention soon. Finally undoing both shoes and helping Widow step out of them, Lena quickly tossed the outfit out of the shower now that it became useless. She took a moment to marvel at the sight which lay in front of her.

Widowmaker was even more enticing than Lena had imagined in her wildest dreams, and she had already been _really_ alluring there. The fact that Widow was completely nude underneath the bodysuit came as no surprise to Lena at all, which just added something to the thrill. Amélie was completely bare and, much to Tracer's excitement, she didn't have a single hair on her body apart from the ones on her head.

"Stop staring already!" Amélie tried to order, but her voice failed her, making her sound completely embarrassed. There was even a tiny bit of pink color spreading over her blue cheeks. Truth was, Amélie was embarrassed like never before. She shouldn't have been, normally she was used to walk around in front of the Talon doctors and scientists completely naked and it never bothered her. She was just a weapon there, just a tool to be used and hardly anything more. But the way Lena looked at her now, with wide brown eyes glowing and her mouth slightly agape as if in awe, Amélie felt like she didn't deserve this level of admiration from someone so caring as Lena.

"Bloody hell, luv, you are gorgeous" Lena had said the words without even realizing it. She just knelt there in the shower, looking up to Widow and watched while the many small drops of water were rapidly running down over Amélie's slightly visible collarbones and over her well rounded, firm breasts. Some drops were uniting on the tip of her already hardened nipple, falling down from it after a moment or two and reflecting the dim light in the shower with a mesmerizing sparkle, or just gliding further along her body, over her well toned stomach to Widow's crotch and over her perfect thighs, leaving a wet trail of evidence behind for other drops to follow in.

The whole woman was perfection; not only her body, but really all of her. She might have had her issues, but in the end Tracer thought highly of her. Not a lot of people would have been able to go through the things Widowmaker had to endure and survive, yet alone retain a little piece of their selves. Even if it wasn't a lot.

Widowmaker's heart was beating faster than it ever did before. She would have never thought that someone could look at her like this and be so completely honest about it. Tracer's eyes were glowing, and it wasn't only pure lust which made them sparkle like this. It was the general appreciation of Widowmaker as a person, not only as a useful pile of flesh, but as a human being, which made Amélie appreciate that stare.

The only stare she would ever tolerate.

The only stare she would ever yearn for.

Lena arose and wrapped her arms around Amélie's body, kissing her with burning passion, while she picked her up and turned them both around. She pressed Widowmaker against the cold tiles of the shower, trying to deepen the kiss.

It was in that moment when Lena noticed that Amélie's body wasn't moving anymore. Her jaw was locked, and when Tracer looked at Widow, she saw that her eyes were wide open in shock. Amélie's body was frozen solid, her hands trembling as she stared at Lena with _fear._

Tracer blinked in confusion. She had no idea what was wrong. Did she do something which had startled Widow? Had she been moving too sudden or too aggressively? Or was it... Tracer needed a moment before she realized that her hands had moved around Widowmaker's wrist and had pinned them over her head.

And then it hit Lena. She suddenly remembered that she had seen that expression on Widowmaker's face before. In a video when the woman had been strapped to the cold metal surface of the operation table in some Talon laboratory. Oh, God! What was she thinking restricting Amélie's like this? That move was something Lena wasn't even thinking about. She just liked the aesthetics of it and, so far, her partners always enjoyed when she took the lead.

Tracer gasped, immediately letting go of Amélie's wrists, quickly stepping away, to give Widow more personal space. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Lena should not be in charge of this kind of special affair. She must have been extra stupid to assume that she didn't need to be more careful with Amélie. Hell, the girl had been tortured and abused like no one else Tracer was aware of, and yet, she just went ahead and got lost in the moment. Lena was aware that Widow was by no means fragile, but she should have known that the atrocities Talon did to her would have left _some_ scars.

"I am so sorry" Tracer whispered "I just wanted-" Lena sputtered, scared when Widowmaker didn't react.

Amélie was actually pleasantly surprised when Tracer picked her up all of a sudden and spun them around. She enjoyed the sensation of the cold tile wall against her back in contrast to the hot body caressing her front as she hummed in bliss.

But then Tracer moved closer, pressing Widowmaker tighter against the wall with her body, and suddenly, Amélie couldn't move anymore. She felt locked in place, and tried to reach out for Tracer's shoulders, but her wrists were caught out of the air before her hands were risen over her head.

That was the moment Widowmaker started to panic. For a second, an image flashed into her mind. Suddenly, she was back in one of Talon's dark labs being strapped to some cold metal surface inside a dark, cold room. Her body tensed up and she prepared to kick Tracer off her when the heat in front of her was abruptly gone and Widowmaker could breathe freely again. The image quickly faded away, taking the shock in Amélie's bones with it. Her attention returned to the moment, here in this hot shower. There was no danger present. It was only a naked Tracer in front of her looking horrified.

Tracer stared at her like she had just killed Amélie's favorite puppy and needed to confess her crime while she apologized. Amélie was breathing heavily, as her heart was starting to quickly calm down.

A part of Widow couldn't forbear to notice how cute Tracer looked when she was desperate, but the larger portion of her reminded her of the fact that Lena had let go by herself.

She _noticed_ something was wrong all on her own. No one told her and Widow hadn't moved yet. It was only Tracer who paid close attention to what she was doing. And that was the moment Widowmaker knew she had made the right decision. Lena was the right choice. If there ever could be someone else in her life again, it would be the bubbly Brit. It had to be her and no one else. No one else would ever be able to understand what Amélie Lacroix had turned into the way Lena apparently understood it.

It was more important than anything else to Widowmaker. Lena could be trusted. She had proven that over and over again. And that made Widow crave the Overwatch agent even more, more than her foreign charm, more than her ridiculous self-confidence and more than her almost criminal good looks.

Besides, their little foreplay sexed Widow way too much to let herself be turned off by some stupid memory now.

She wanted nothing more than to continue this; preferably if she got to be the one pinning Tracer to the wall. Amélie had very fond -or better yet, rather steamy- memories of how much pleasure that had given her before when the French assassin met Tracer in London and kissed her before she picked the Brit up and pinned her to that ancient wall in the belfry. It was Widowmaker's hottest, most erotic memory, despite them being fully clothed at the time.

Now they weren't.

And Widow wanted Tracer. She wanted her so bad; she wanted her to show her how to feel good, how to feel _alive_ , and that there wasn't anything else on her mind.

If there ever had been a doubt, now there was no more.

"It's ok, _chérie_. You noticed" Widowmaker replied and smiled, but Tracer was just shaking her head like she had committed an unforgivable sin. It wasn't until Amélie stepped forward closely to Tracer and reached out for the Brit's hands that she stopped. "I am fine, really." Widow reassured, paying special attention to standing close enough so that their bodies touched ever so slightly. Tracer was a bit smaller than Widowmaker, so the tip of her breasts were softly brushing over the blue skin of her ribcage.

Lena tried to ignore the distracting, highly arousing, electric shiver that the coolness of Widow's skin sent through her nipples and into her body. It felt so horribly inappropriate to feel her center cry out for attention, throbbing and begging to be touched after what she just did. But the more Tracer stared back at Amélie the more she figured that her French blueberry really did look more thankful than upset; like Lena had proven something important.

Thankful and relieved of something. Maybe this wasn't so bad? Maybe it was good this happened so soon? Be that as it may, Tracer came to a decision. Widowmaker had been more than comfortable to advance things when she had been in charge. The last time in London, today when she held Lena in her strong arms from behind and kissed her neck, or when she allowed Tracer to strip her out of the bodysuit. But as soon as Tracer took charge, the gorgeous assassin started to grow uncomfortable.

And Lena would have wanted literally anything else to happen apart from Widowmaker being uncomfortable in her presence. She swallowed heavily in a mix of excitement and remorse the likes of which Lena never felt before.

"We do this at your pace, alright, luv? I would never want to hurt you and I can be a little...consuming sometimes. I want you to feel good. I want you to enjoy this. It's..." Lena trailed off, looking up at Widowmaker, who had pulled Lena even closer to her. A cold hand gently touched her chin and jaw line, and Tracer willingly followed the direction the hand turned her to. She found Widowmaker's eyes once again looking down at her with a satisfied smile. "You call the shots in this, alight?" Lena said shyly. This was really not like her. She usually was the boss in bed, and the few girls she had graced with the honor of her presence there were usually more than happy to follow.

But this was _different_. It had been different from the first moment on, when Widowmaker was stuck in her head so hard that Tracer had to drown the memory of her in alcohol. It had been different when the French beauty was gone the morning after Lena saved her, leaving nothing but a lipstick-note on her mirror. It had been different when Lena realized that she was being watched, and it had also been different when their lips first met each other inside that belfry in London.

Widowmaker never played by the rules; she twisted everything Lena thought she knew for certain. The French assassin had little problem making the otherwise ever so confident and buoyant Lena Oxton nervous and insecure.

It was part of the thrill.

So, in a way, this was thrilling as well. _Very_ thrilling.

Lena gasped when Widowmaker reversed the game, taking hold of Lena and almost slamming her into the wall of the shower. Her chronal accelerator prevented Lena from feeling the cold tiles, but she was too occupied by Widowmaker's hands sliding up her body and toward her breasts anyway. Amélie's chilling hand circled around the soft flesh while she pressed a leg in between Lena's thighs, just out of reach of the most interesting part. Lena's center cried for attention as she tried to arch her hip forward a little bit in desperate search for at least _some_ friction on Widow's thigh. But Amélie kept the much desired relief just barely out of Tracer's reach, yet close enough for her to feel the coolness of her leg brushing over her heated and dripping wet core.

"So, _chérie_ " she purred into Lena's ear with a hot whisper as she felt some warm drops fall to her thigh; drops that clearly weren't water. "Are telling me that you are mine and mine alone?" the assassin asked with a slightly devious smirk. Oh, Amélie liked that very much. Getting to be the boss in this game was a new kind of high. Usually she didn't have much say in anything, but wherever she did, Widowmaker drew immense pleasure out of it. It was what made her enjoy killing so much; the sheer power over someone else. Well, that and the fact that Talon used hard drugs to condition her to do so for years. Either way, the mere thought of getting to play this game with Tracer was positively arousing, almost intoxicating, maybe even close to addictive. The teasing, the tension, the craving for more and finally the relief, the mere thought of it all made the assassin shiver with anticipation.

She had hoped to do this for some time, but had forgotten about it and now remembered that desire again. It was what her wildest, most private fantasies where made of. And where she had to fight Tracer for control in her dreams, Lena now willingly gave it to her. Because that short moment before made it painfully clear that it would not work otherwise. At least not for now. The reason was of no importance for Widowmaker's excitement.

And Lena's reply did little to contain it. _Au contraire,_ it made Widowmaker's insides tremble and overflow with anticipation. But in order for Lena to actually say it, Amélie had to nibble on Tracer's earlobe while she drew teasing circles around her breast.

"I..." Lena sucked in a deep breath as she felt Widowmaker gently bite down on her ear, gnawing at the heated flesh "...am. I'd do anything to make you happy" she pressed out in between gasping breaths. It was ridiculously easy to say these words for Tracer; at least way easier than telling Amélie the true reason for them.

Widowmaker could hardly contain a wide-ass smirk from forming on her lips while she left Tracer's now completely red ear alone, a fine line of salvia stretching between her lips and Lena's ears. Slowly, Widow proceeded to stare deeply into the naked brunette's eyes, her delicate hand closing in on the meanwhile erect and hard nipple of Tracer's right breast.

" _Anything?_ " Widowmaker asked, pressing her cold body closer to Tracer's. The harness wasn't comfortable against Amélie's skin, but she ignored it. She was too caught up in this super hot moment which she enjoyed like nothing else before it. And judging from the deep red blush rapidly spreading over Tracer's cheeks and cute nose, so did the Brit. Widowmaker enjoyed seeing Lena like this; so heated up, so excited and... at her mercy. Soon.

Lena's eyes lit up for a moment, as if she argued with herself for a final time if she really wanted to leave her usual path, before Tracer nodded "anything." She confirmed. And it was true. Lena would have done anything for Amélie, no matter what. She wanted her to be happy, to have a normal life, to laugh, to smile, and to enjoy good times. To enjoy private good times. With her. Naked. In a shower. Just like now.

She wanted all of that for her, because of one simple reason which simultaneously couldn't have been easier, or more complex. Lena was in love with the woman currently teasing her so hard that she doubted her sanity. Telling Mercy was easy. Telling Widow now was impossible. She'd rather show her.

And, as if it was some kind of reward, Widowmaker gently grasped Tracer's breasts in her hands, carefully kneading the hot buds of flesh in between her fingers while she rose the leg between Lena's thighs up a little, pressing it against her womanhood. Lena hissed out in pleasure, feeling the cold leg making contact with her hot and wet womanhood, immediately trying to get more friction out of the touch.

" _bonne fille_ " Amélie purred seductively, allowing Tracer to rub her sex all over Widow's thigh. Bringing their lips together, she caught Lena's excited moan in her mouth, feeling the content hum through their touch. Amélie could clearly feel the Brit's hips searching for friction on her leg, she herself hot against the cold skin, making it easy for Widowmaker to notice just _how_ excited Lena really was by now.

Tracer's soft hands, which up until the moment were resting on Amélie's hips, started to move as well, now sure that she kind of had a go-ahead and that Widow was comfortable in the current situation. It was her who kept the two pressed together closely. One step and Widowmaker could have ended the game; but which she didn't. Not when one of Tracer's hands caressed the wonderfully soft flesh of Widowmaker's firm breasts, massaging one of them with skillful fingers and gentle movements, and luckily not when Lena's other hand slowly slid towards the nether regions on Amélie's body.

Tracer's touch was much more skilled and refined than that of her lover. But it didn't matter to Lena. The fact Widowmaker was here, doing _this,_ was more than enough for her to go crazy. She didn't expect that Amélie would be completely new to such an act, which she obviously wasn't, but she was by no means as experienced as Tracer was.

Hell, Lena had been doing other girls since she was twelve and even though Tracer was picky when it came to bed-partners, over enough time, she obviously _did_ score with one or another girl.

Tracer's eyes rolled to the back of her head as the gentle admiration of her flesh caused the French beauty to bite down on Lena's neck before sucking on it. It wasn't painful at all, but an exciting stinging sensation. Tracer's finger danced around Amélie's womanhood, drawing hot and teasing circles around it.

"You ok, luv?" Tracer hummed, liking how Widwomaker's movement started to become sluggish and out of synch.

" _Qui_ " Amélie sighed happily. She had never in her life felt this excited before. Lena's hands had to be touched by God himself, for there was no way they could be this gentle and, at the same time, so incredibly satisfying.

"Want me to go ahead?" Lena asked, happy to notice that her beautiful French lover's hands were moving from her breasts down her body as well, apparently mirroring what Tracer did.

" _Oui, s'il vous plaît_." Widow managed to say, Lena's hands making her mind turn to goo, causing her to almost _beg_ Tracer to continue. Here she was thinking that she was in control, when all it took was Lena displaying just how good she was for that fantasy to fall apart like a house of cards in a storm. Not that Widow really cared anymore in this moment. She wanted _that_ so badly; to have a _them._ wanted Lena so much it was almost painful and a part of Widow still failed to fully understand how this moment was actually real life. " _Touche-moi. Je t'en prie. Fais-moi sentir vivant!_ "

And while Lena didn't speak a single word French, she knew exactly what Amélie meant. She would do exactly that. There was no way that tomorrow morning Widowmaker would not feel like she had been alive in what was to come.

She had asked for it. Tracer happily complied and was rewarded by the cutest, most adorable hiss of pleasure she had ever heard. Widowmaker was too charming like this, she was obviously enjoying what Tracer was doing and that in returned satisfied Lena.

"You are so cold" Tracer hummed, the feeling of her fingers surrounded by cold but soaking wet flesh foreign, yet strangely exciting.

"A-ah!" Widow gasped "You are too hot" she breathed. Amélie had given up on trying to mirror what Lena did, and instead settled for clinging to her shoulders and waist like she would fall otherwise. She felt Tracer's warm fingers move slowly insider her, the heat radiating off her hand sending a burning sensation into Amélie's aroused flesh like Lena was feeding her pure life through her tender and careful admiration. Her heart was beating almost painfully in her chest, and her muscles felt sore from all the tension. Tracer's touch was magical, she was twisting and curling fingers inside Widow's wet folds, sending sparks of electricity into her shaking muscles. Amélie's whole body cringed when Tracer moved her hand to softly rub her palm over the sensitive bud on Widow's nether regions, her fingers still buried deeply inside the cold, wet sex.

Lena furrowed a brow, not sure if she should continue, but then Amélie desperately cried out for more before she bit Tracer in another part of her shoulder, sucking on the flesh. Encouraged by this Tracer started to pick up the pace of her fingers moving inside Widow, paying close attention to how her lover's body reacted. Lena didn't want to overdo it and act too fast or too harsh. There was time, she wanted Amélie to enjoy this to the fullest.

"You like it?" Tracer murmured with an innocent smile, which Widowmaker had no way of seeing.

"Love it, _chérie_ " Amélie hissed in bliss, her cold breath fresh against Lena's heated skin, but soon washed away by the hot shower. Tracer giggled happily, twisting and turning her fingers inside Widowmaker and being rewarded by sharp gasps or soft moans with every move she made. Lena could tell that her partner wasn't too far away anymore. It wouldn't take a lot to push Widowmaker off the edge and into bliss. Just slightly more pressure, and...

"Well, you have me the entire night all to yourself, luv. And I'll do _anything_ you want. W _hatever_ you desire" Lena purred that last part in Amélie's ear, suspecting that it was exactly the kind of psychological mind-sex which got Widow off while she rubbed her palm a bit tighter to Widowmaker's clit.

Oh, boy was Lena good with girls.

She had barely said the words when she felt the wet flesh around her fingers start to tighten up. Lena couldn't help but smirk when she used her thumb to administer more aggressive, but still rather gentle, admirations to the particularly sensitive bud on Widowmaker's body, carefully stroking over it in circular motions while she curled her fingers up inside Amélie's cold flesh.

The reaction she got was wonderful. Widowmaker held on to Tracer, her whole body tensing up and her nails digging into Lena's back while she, yet again, buried her teeth in a part of Tracer's shoulder. The Brit knew she would have bite-marks and bruises all over her body by tomorrow, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

If anything, these were marks of how good she was... and how much fun Widow had.

So, ultimately, they were a reward. Lena would wear them with pride even if she'd need to do some cover-up work before she could go back to work.

She smiled happily as she gently eased Amélie out of the first climax of this young evening, soothing her shaking body with slow movements of her hot hands as the girl held on to her tightly, like Lena was the only thing keeping Amélie from drowning. Tracer gave Widow as much time as she needed to recover from her first orgasm today. Yet, this was only the beginning. Many more would follow through the night; Tracer was sure of it.

And so was Amélie when she suddenly grabbed Tracer on the straps of her harness and pulled her out of the shower, not the least bit interest in the fact that they both were still wet. Dragging her to the other side of the room, Widowmaker pushed Tracer on to the bed. She was on top of Tracer faster than the Brit could have blinked away. Not that Oxton would have wanted to do that anytime soon. Amélie was now crawling up to Lena's face while running a finger over Tracer's hot and damp skin.

"I don't think I will ever let you go, _chérie_ " Widowmaker moaned silently, her eyes glowing with excitement and, even more importantly: genuine happiness. That was all Lena wanted to see. It was all she wanted to achieve. Amélie should be happy. And she was while she buried her slender hand in Tracer's wet mess of hairs, crushing their lips together in a messy and desperate kiss, her body easing down on Lena who wrapped her legs around Widow's waist.

Tracer could not help but grin like a Cheshire cat when Amélie stopped her violent assault on the Brit's lips. "What a coincidence, 'cause I don't think I would leave you, luv."

" _bien. Bonne fille_ " Widow hummed, gently pinching one of Tracer's nipples, eliciting a sexy groan. "Your turn, _chérie._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest with you, I am not confident in writing lemons. Not one bit. It took quite some encouragement from EhMattissimo to get me to even publish this, so if you liked this chapter, you should thank him.
> 
> I am super nervous about this chapter, and this is the one and only time I am ever going to ask you to go easy on me. Please be nice (not that you usually aren't, you guys are incredible!) Just... you know, I feel insecure with this chapter. If you have something negative to say, please be constructive, ok?
> 
> I tried to explore the chemistry between Widow and Tracer during their shower, and I was greatly inspired by a lot of fan-art where Widow was biting Tracer and I thought it was stupidly hot. I also wanted to show that Tracer is careful when it comes to Widow and that she is more than willing to drop her usual dominance in bed in favor of Widow's comfort. Which kind of shows how much Amélie means to Lena, I think. I don't know, maybe I tried to show a deeper connection between the two, that they understand each other without many words...
> 
> Also, I noticed a lot of authors have Tracer's accelerator implanted into her body. I didn't do that for two reasons really. First of all I took a close look at my life sized statue of her, which I managed to... ehh... procure, and found out that an implant seems to be unlikely, at least from the look of things. Also, I didn't want to create a female Iron Man. The chest-mounted accelerator was still bothersome to my imagination, so I solved that with the wrist mounted anchor for future private times. Hope you guys are alright with that. I dunno, I just imagine that cuddling with Tracer while she wears that harness is a little... uncomfortable.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked!
> 
> -/-
> 
> Translations:
> 
> bonne fille= (French) Good girl
> 
> Touche-moi. Je t'en prie. Fais-moi sentir vivant= (French) Touch me. I beg you. Make me feel alive
> 
>  
> 
> If you want to support the story, despite the horrible lemons, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction


	13. The black Spider

**Congress of medical affairs, Zürich.**

"Where did they come from?!" Mercy asked as she ducked back behind the cover right next to Fareeha. She had just risked a quick peek out of their hiding spot behind the stage while bullets darting over her head like there was no tomorrow. There was an entire army storming the event-hall, and Pharah's mind was running at full speed trying to come up with a way out of this situation; preferably one which didn't involve her and Angela being carried out of the building in a body bag.

"I have no idea" the Egyptian replied, which was, apart from the obvious entrance through the glass wall, the complete truth. Quickly leaning out of cover Fareeha fired off two rounds, before ducking back into cover. Her handgun was given to her by Torbjörn before their departure in a rather strange and unspectacular moment, where the tiny Swede took Pharah to the side and just pressed the gun into her hands mumbling something about how she might need it, before he was gone again. Social interaction apparently was not one of his strong traits.

The pistol, however, was one of Overwatch's best gunsmith's ingenious ideas. Though it relied on physical ammunition, the pistol fired high energy rifle-rounds through an unusually long barrel. The recoil was substantial, but luckily Pharah was good in shape, so controlling the gun was not too tricky. "There are too many of them!" She said, quickly looking around and searching for an emergency exit while she let an empty magazine glide out of her pistol and fed another one into the grip. The slide clicked back forward with a loud metallic sound.

She spotted the green glowing sign of an exit right behind the huge black rock of the fountain. Mercy was, in the meantime, shuffling though her small silver colored purse, searching for something, before retrieving a little plasma-blaster. Fareeha looked at the pea-shooter, raising an eyebrow.

"I didn't know you carried a gun" she stated as she watched the doctor shrug it off, like it was no big deal.

"Old habits die hard" Mercy replied, quickly peeking out of cover and firing a couple of shots at the large force of well-equipped assailants who were quickly closing in on their position. Some of them started to grab certain guests who were being held down by other people and attended the convention as well. This apparently had been a very well planned mission.

Angela wasn't one for violence. She resented conflict most of the time and tried to achieve a diplomatic solution to problems, yet Mercy was also hardly afraid to make good use of violence, should worst comes to worst. When she got to that point in her philosopy, things usually weren't pretty anymore. Right now seemed like a good time to stop talking and start shooting. Or running. Or both. "So, Ms. Amari, what is the escape plan? I guess we don't want to hang around to see how the party ends?"

"Do you see the emergency exit behind the fountain?" Fareeha asked, shooting three approaching soldiers in their faces in rapid succession, their heads exploding from the impact of the large rounds, splattering a mix of dark blood and pink-ish brain goo all over the place. The shriek of a woman covered in that nasty fluid was luckily drowned in the almost deafening noise of this spontaneous battlefield.

It was total chaos.

People were screaming and trying to run away just to be shot by the enemy forces, while the remnants of the event security were still trying to drive the enemy away. Gunfire was rattling through the large hall like explosions while soldiers were carrying out their orders. The attack was apparently rather ambitious, as the assailants seemed to abduct certain people, handcuffing them and dragging them back to the SUVs.

"I do." Mercy replied, quickly glancing over to the spot Fareeha mentioned. There was an unremarkable door in the color of the wall right behind the fountain. It would most likely lead them to an uncertain safety.

At least they hoped it would. Still, uncertain safety by running was way better than certain death by staying.

"On my mark we will make a run for it. Whatever you do, don't stop; just run and shoot." Pharah instructed, peeking out of cover to watch for the perfect opportunity for their escape.

"Ready" Angela said, preparing her body for jumping up and making a beeline toward the exit, her eyes fixed on Fareeha the entire time. The Egyptian had a hand risen, signaling Mercy to wait for her sign.

And as if God himself had answered to their prayers, a guest jumped up from a hiding spot and tried to run away. A large portion of the soldiers' attention was diverted to that point and Pharah seized the opportunity.

"Now! Run! Go!" she ordered. Fareeha and Angela shot up from their cover and darted to the exit, barely dodging the bullets shot in their direction, while blindly firing back in an attempt to force their enemies into cover.

Angela crashed against the metal door, kicking it open and waiting for Fareeha to run past it, before she immediately closed the door again, searching for something to block it from opening another time.

"Leave it!" Pharah shouted, grabbing Mercy at her arm and dragging her along. The corridor they were in was long and only sparsely lit, but there was a glowing 'Exit' sign on the far end of it. Fareeha didn't hesitate and dragged Angela with her as fast as possible.

"Who are they?" Mercy asked, despite knowing the answer already. The black uniforms with the red glowing visors on the helmets were dead giveaways.

"Talon, of course" Pharah replied, not stopping, while she readjusted her grip on Angela's arm. The doctor started to slow down all of a sudden, and Fareeha was really not happy about that. Not at all. They needed to get their ass in gear, not waste time with stupid questions, this was-

"You are bleeding" Mercy stated flatly, staring at her protector's hand, blood dripping off it. Mercy instantly grabbed her small purse again, shuffling through it. "I have an injector of nanoprobes here. Hang on" she said, but was yet again dragged along with Pharah. The doctor was stumbling forward while she was trying to find what she was looking for inside the chaos of her purse. God, there weren't so many things in there, yet how hard could it be to find a little glowing yellow tube shrink wrapped in a clear foil-paper hybrid.

"We need to get you out of here. I have a car parked in front of the back exit." Well, that wasn't strictly speaking the truth, but Fareeha didn't have time for long explanations.

"Why?" Angela asked.

"Just in case. Come on now; we need to hurry up. I have some friends from Helix a little bit out of town. I am sure we can go there. You can look at that scratch in the car. Come on!" Fareeha pushed through a couple of doors before she dragged Mercy outside of the building. They were greeted by the cold night air of Zürich in a dark back alley behind the event hall. "This way" Pharah urged, running toward an old black sedan parked to the side of the street right next to a wall. It was in no way her car, and she hadn't parked it there either, but explaining this to Mercy seemed too complicated for now. Thus, Pharah just said she had parked the sedan here.

She tried the door-handle, but it was locked, obviously. Letting an annoyed grunt escape from her lips, Pharah slammed her elbow into the glass, smashing it loudly.

"I thought you parked the car here?" Mercy inquired, looking suspiciously at Fareeha opening the car from the inside, surprised that the alarm didn't go off.

"I saw there was one parked here, ok? We need to-" Pharah was cut off by a faint sizzling sound which rapidly closed in on their position.

Suddenly, Mercy pushed her harshly out of the way, pressing her forward a couple of meters, stumbling but, by some sort of cosmic wonder, not falling to the ground. Fareeha barely had enough time to catch a glimpse of a glowing light rush past her, followed by a trail of heat, before she saw that the car she had been trying to procure exploded in a huge ball of fire, hit by an incoming RPG.

The explosion sent both Mercy and Pharah flying, slamming them into the next wall like they were dolls. Pharah's entire chest hurt like it was hit by Reinhardt's hammer while she tried to pick herself up from the ground. Her limbs were shaking, and her bones were aching, but Fareeha knew that she needed to get moving again. She _had_ to get up, grab Mercy, and start _running._ Fast and as far away as humanly possible. There was no way the Egyptian would allow these evil pests to get their hands on Dr. Angela Ziegler. Fareeha would die before she allowed that to happen.

The sounds of heavy boots running toward them urged to Pharah's ears over the painfully ringing sound she was constantly hearing since the explosion. Now she was even more sure that they needed to bail right fucking _now._

"Dr. Ziegler! Get up! Hurry!" Pharah shouted, reaching out for Angela who was lying on the floor next to her, unmoving. An invisible string was tightening around Fareeha's throat. This was not the way this was supposed to be! If anything she was the one who should lie on the ground after pushing Angela out of danger; not the other way around!

Luckily, the doctor seemed to react to her touch as she tried to lift her body up with a heavy groan. There was not a single fiber left in her which didn't feel like someone set it on fire. Moving felt like swimming through a pool of razor blades, yet her brain was yelling at her to get her ass into gear.

But it was too late.

Two strong, gloved hands grabbed Mercy roughly at her shoulders and violently yanked her up to her knees while her hands were cuffed together behind her back. Her purse fell to the ground, the contents rolling onto the dirty street.

"Target secured" an artificially distorted voice stated while Pharah felt two more hands harshly take hold of her as well. She tried to resist as someone grabbed her hands and brought them behind her back, but she didn't stand a chance.

"Sir, what do we do with the extra?" another voice, yet very similar to the one before asked.

"Angela, look at me!" Pharah said, the doctor blinking confused, her head falling from one shoulder to the other like she was not all quite here. There was a fine line of blood running down from the corner of Mercy's mouth. "Angela!"

"Fareeha?" the doctor whispered. Everything she saw was blurry and her head hurt like never before, but she could make out that her bodyguard was kneeling on the floor with two soldiers standing right behind her, one of them holding her pressed to the ground. "What's going on? I-"

"The boss didn't say anything about an extra" a third distorted voice said. "Just kill her."

"Sir?"

"Are you deaf? We have orders to bring Dr. Ziegler in; not some random bitch. _Erschießen!_ "

"Sir, yes, Sir!" Angela's eyes opened wide as the meaning of the words spoken seeped into her mind. She tried to break free of her captors, but was firmly held in place as she leaned forward as much as possible.

"No! Fareeha!" Mercy shouted as she saw one of the soldiers press a pistol to the back of Pharah's head. "Don't do that! Please! Leave her alone! You have what you want, so just leave her be!"

"I'm sorry" the Egyptian whispered with a sad smile on her lips. She knew Mercy's begging wouldn't change a thing. Fareeha had failed. She had dishonored her name, her purpose and the woman she swore to protect. When she thought that she would die for her, she hadn't actually meant _today._ Someday, maybe, in a heroic act of self sacrifice. Not here, on her first mission with Overwatch, in a dirty alley after having failed the person she never wanted to fail.

The metallic rattling of someone cocking a pistol informed Fareeha of what would come before a loud bang echoed through the dark alley, ripping through the night like lightning through the cloudy skies.

Mercy stared blankly as Pharah's dead body slumped down on the cold tarmac, a dark puddle of glistering black liquid forming around her.

Before she could understand what was going on, someone pressed an electro-shocker to her neck and pulled the trigger.

Her world turned dark while her defenseless body was dragged off into the night. No one paid any attention to Fareeha, who was lying face first in her own blood, a dull expression in her eyes. The red puddle forming around her head was spreading, lowly seeping into the paper backside of a tiny, yellow glowing tube.

-/-

**Dorado rooftops, 2204 hours, secret meeting place**

Jack Morrison looked down on the dark street below, where a little girl, maybe ten years of age, was carrying a bag of flour and a poster into a rustic bakery, stumbling in her steps and clearly excited. He could hear how her mother was scolding her for taking so long, but nothing could dampen the young child's euphoria.

Soldier 76 sighed heavily. A part of him knew that it didn't matter how many good things he would do, there was no way God would forgive him of the sins he had to commit or those which were still to come. There was just no way. At some point the end did not justify the means anymore.

But that point lay long behind him.

Years ago he swore that he'd see this through to the end and that no matter what happened, he'd succeed. Or better yet, 'they'. They would succeed; the only two people who knew of this little plan. This top-secret operation.

It had to be done. Someone had to do it. Even if it meant sacrificing good men, and even if it meant lying to those he considered his family and leading them astray. They all trusted him, and Morrison abused that trust.

But what other way was there?

It had to be done. Morrison had no idea how many times he had told himself this sentence, over and over again to justify his own sins... at least for himself. Because he was sure that no one would understand. Not his friends, not his brothers and sisters in arms, and not God. No one.

In the end he was a traitor, destined to go to hell. It was a price Morrison was willing to pay if it meant achieving his goal.

Once they were heroes; now they were no more.

It was what he told the little girl when he saved her from Los Muertos. Looking in those young, brown eyes full of hope and admiration was the most painful thing he had to do in a long time. She looked at him, and Morrison was reminded of the days when he truly had been a hero. But that was in the past now.

Still, the girl didn't believe a word he said, and if he could, he would have told her how many cruelties he had to commit in the name of a goal which he had no idea was even achievable.

"Still playing hero, I see" A deep voice growled, and Morrison turned around to see a man in long black robes step out of a purplish, dark grey cloud of smoke. "What's the point?" Reaper asked as he walked up to Soldier 76.

"I doubt you would understand, brother" Morrison replied calmly, turning back to watch over the tiny bakery where the little girl had run into. It would have been such a peaceful setting, if not for all the violence and destruction surrounding it.

Reaper chuckled, standing next to Morrison and crossing his arms over his chest. "You can't buy your soul back with good deeds, friend. Neither of us can. We are meant to follow orders, not question what these orders do to us; never forget that. We do what needs to be done, because no one else can. Apart from that, we aren't important. Our souls don't matter. We are _expendable_ at the end of the day no matter how important we may be. You and I, brother, are nothing but pawns in a game way larger than us. Or our souls, for that matter."

"Is that what you tell yourself before you go and murder the people you called friends once?" Jack asked bitterly.

"Sometimes" Reyes replied with a careless shrug. "It was either you or me. And ever since Zürich and what Ziegler did to me, I was the one more cut out for this side. It's that simple, really."

Morrison laughed sadly into the night, his voice carried away by a cool breeze of wind blowing from the salty ocean deep down below a cliff to their right. The night smelled peaceful. It was at ease, almost welcoming, but definitely heavy. It must have been the salt-breeze. "Ever since you first wore that cloak you were always so _dark_. I miss the fun Gabriel at times" Morrison stated, sucking in a deep breath of the pleasantly chilly, but not downright cold, night air as he took a second to listen to the waves loudly crashing ashore in the distance.

"And I miss the times when the world was threatened by a clear enemy you could shoot in the face and not some kind of _ghost._ Yet here we are." Reaper grumbled, well aware that here one ghost complained about the existence of other ghosts. He didn't care. All he wanted was to get this all over with. It had been too long and too much for too many reasons. It was enough.

"Here we are" Jack agreed, a long moment of silence spreading between the two old friends, while the peaceful sounds of the ocean seemed to become more apparent. They rarely saw each other in person ever since Overwatch was shut down. Ever since Gabriel Reyes attacked the Swiss headquarter in Zürich, killing hundreds of agents and apparently also murdering Jack Morrison. It had been the beginning of the end. The first masterfully played ruse which started all of _this._

"Was she worth it?" Reaper asked suddenly and painfully out of context. But Jack understood perfectly what his brother from another mother was talking about. They knew each other since they first joined the military more than 40 years ago.

"She was a little girl" Morrsion shrugged nonchalantly. For him this question was a no-brainer. But then again, Reyes had always had his problems with moral integrity. Following this, Reaper's reply should have hardly been surprising.

"That answered a lot of questions I didn't ask" he returned calmly, shaking his masked head. There were more pressing concerns than their old banter over saving people who couldn't protect themselves. Reyes was tired of this topic, and he really didn't want to dwell on it further. "But let's get down to business, shall we? I am on a schedule"

"So am I. Business it is. You wanted us to meet up, so you better start talking."

"I take it the mission in Numbani was a success?" Reaper inquired. He hadn't heard any reports yet, so chances were it at least wasn't a massive failure.

"Yes. I blew the stage up. Thank you for the care-package, by the way" Jack replied, a part of him feeling bad for what he had to do. But Morrison grew used to the necessity of such cruelties. At least to a degree where he could look at himself in the mirror again.

"Good to know. So the spider was interrupted, I guess?"

"Tracer. Exactly according to plan. At least the bigger one, not the Numbani one... Whatever. It worked."

Reaper made a noise under his mask which could have been an expression of surprise. "I would have bet you anything that this would never work the way you promised." Reyes grumbled.

"But it did. Better than your idea with the Talon-guard" Morrison couldn't suppress a chuckle. "Didn't she snap his neck or something?"

"Don't remind me. I had to clean up that mess for her." Reaper replied with some frustration in his voice. One thing about Widowmaker was that she was _always_ causing him trouble. No matter what she did in some way she crossed his plans. Either unintentionally, which was bad enough, or just to fuck him over, which was even worse. Reaper knew that Widow didn't particularly _like_ him, and a part of him always whispered that she might be suspecting something. Luckily the French master assassin had no way of knowing what was really going on.

"See, we just needed someone with the right _arguments_ " Jack said, laughing lightly, causing Reaper to turn toward him.

"I swear to God, brother, if you are going to say tits now, I _will_ shoot you." Reyes threatened, while Morrison was just shaking his head in amusement.

"Tracer is a womanizer. The girl who can withstand _her_ charm has yet to be born. Lock her in a room with four perfectly straight girls and an hour later you will have five dykes. It's her secret super-power." Morrison chuckled. That was greatly exaggerated, but Lena had a reputation of making smart girls silly just by hanging around them. And that was exactly what Morrison had reckoned with when he first made Winston send Tracer to a mission, where she'd most likely run into Widowmaker. That, and some highly interesting things hidden in her psychological evaluation.

Reaper said he needed the otherwise completely loyal and unwavering assassin to mistrust her creators, and to doubt Talon and their motives, to a point that she wanted to leave the organization. Morrison merely acted on that, sending Tracer to do what she does best. Not that he had ever told the Overwatch-ray-of-sun anything about the real goal of her missions. He knew his plan would work better if the bubbly Brit didn't know anything. She just needed to be there, and the rest would happen on its own. Tracer wouldn't disappoint; Morrison just _knew._ And when he had found her in the Overwatch-bar a couple of weeks ago, drinking by herself and coming up with ridiculous excuses for doing so, he was _sure._

Tracer was playing right into their hands without even realizing it.

Reyes didn't comment on Jack's jesting "As long as it worked out in the end."

"For Numbani it did. And for the rest, only time will tell."

"Alright" Reaper nodded, before deciding it was about time for a change of topic. He did squeeze this meeting with Morrison into his schedule after all, and there were other things to take care of. "There is something else"

"Figures" Morrison shrugged, looking at Gabriel as he let a dossier appear in his hand before passing it to his old friend. His supernatural abilities were something Morrison would most likely never grow used to despite knowing how useful they were for the job Reaper was doing. The soldier took the file and flipped the cover open, taking a quick peek inside while Reyes was explaining:

"I found the security issue, thanks to the data I managed to steal from Athena."

Jack looked at the picture of an Asian woman with glasses, quickly skimming over the report written on the paper it was pinned to. "Are you sure? She was..."

"A long time member, I am aware. But the timeline is too perfect to be coincidence, and besides..." Reaper reached over to Soldier and flipped some papers of the report "There is this"

Morrison was reading for a moment, before nodding "Well, that certainly explains why she didn't respond to the recall" he shook his head in disbelieve. Morrison would have never suspected that someone like _her_ could have pulled off such a risky stunt. "I'll dispose of her" he said, turning to leave.

"One more thing, Jack" Reaper said, raising a hand to stop Morrison.

"Mh?"

"I have been investigating for our other little _venture_." Reaper said, adjusting his hood a bit.

"And?"

"Athena's files are useful, and I have some theories, but the documents I have keep referencing a secret file in the archive which I didn't download. The file has the designation 1-AV-OC1, and should be in the Overwatch archives, but access is restricted to a delta level clearance."

Jack chuckled as he quickly wrote the name of the file his friend was looking for down in his phone. "And you don't have that anymore"

"Obviously not. I need that file."

"No problem. I'll send it to you once I am back at HQ" Jack promised with a nod. Whatever gets the job done, he would do it.

"Good. I should come up with something then." Reaper almost _sighed._ It was a strange sound.

"What do our next steps look like?" Morrison wanted to know.

"The usual." Reaper shrugged. "You keep a low profile. I will contact you if I need something"

"Alright. Let's get going then. It was good to see you again, brother" Jack nodded, turning to Reyes. "It was, brother" Gabriel agreed as they shared a quick brotherly hug, patting their backs before separating again.

"I guess I will take care of our treacherous little environmentalist then" Morrison said as he turned to leave before his phone rang. He was already off of the rooftop, and Reaper long gone, when he picked up.

"Sir, there has been an incident" Winston's voice reported.

-/-

**Numbani, safehouse at an unknown location, early morning, 0352 hours**

Widowmaker tossed and turned in her bed; the same one she shared with Lena Oxton. Luckily, the Brit was fast asleep and didn't wake up from the frantic stirring of her restless lover.

Amélie was used to nightmares. They had been haunting her nights for as long as she remembered. Seeing crazy visions of laboratories, painful experiments using horrible machines, and laughing scientists was normal. Sometimes, on rare occasions, she had nightmares about lying in a dark room and feeling the hands of a guy roaming over her cold body, his repulsive scent heavy in her nose. Widowmaker didn't want that to happen. She wanted to get away from him, to stop him, and to fight him off, but her body was limp, and her muscles lax. In Widowmaker's dream she had been drugged, her mind conscious, but her body asleep. Thus, she couldn't stop him while he roughly groped her breasts, painfully twisting her nipples, before she felt his unpleasant body press against her back. Even though it was only a dream, or rather a nightmare, Widow felt the painful scratching of his thick chest hair against her soft skin while he had his way with Amélie.

That dream would go on for hours while the stranger violently raped her over and over again. Over time her body felt like the effects of the drug were wearing off, and the numb feeling in her legs and arms was slowly fading away. Just in the moment when Widow was finally able to turn around and see who was soiling her honor like this, she would wake up, her crotch hurting and her body sweaty. She felt disgusting afterwards; like it really happened.

Tonight, however, the dream Amélie was having was very different from those she was used to. Usually her dreams were hazy and vague, with no real feeling for time, and she always was kind of disorientated.

But not tonight.

The images she saw were as clear as the full moon night, and where she normally was in a constant state of panic and fear, her mind was more hyper attentive this time, adrenaline rushing through Widow's veins like barbed wire. Her heart was beating faster than usual, and every silent sound felt like thunder. In her dream, Amélie was walking down a long room with a fireplace on the left wall and large windows on the right. It was night, and the moonlight shimmering through the windows was not enough to illuminate the large oil paintings hanging above the fireplace, so they stayed a spooky shadow. In the dark room, the fire burning in its place to the left was casting dancing shadows on the furniture, flickering in cold the silver moonlight. Some dark brown lounge chairs surrounding a flat table, an old and rather large pendulum clock, which was ticking loudly despite the crackling fire, and two sets of knight's armor to the right and the left of the door on the far side of the room.

Otherwise, the room was as silent as a graveyard.

Amélie didn't know where she was, but she kept walking toward the door, magically drawn to do so. Her path was determined as there were-dark clad soldiers standing to her left and right, forming a corridor inside the room, which she could not escape. They all were watching her walk with an eerie red glow where their eyes should have been, and Widow wondered how she didn't notice the soldiers sooner. She could have sworn they weren't there a second ago.

Walking toward the door, which seemed darker than anything else in the room, Amélie felt her hand was reaching for the golden knob completely on its own. Her pale blue fingers clasped the cold metal, and suddenly, Amélie was sucked into the door.

For a moment, she felt like falling before she emerged on what supposedly was the other side of the door. The floor there was covered with a heavy, dark red carpet, and there was a desk a few steps in front of her. A large, hefty wooden desk made from expensive wood, obviously hundreds of years old.

A man was towering behind the desk. Standing in front of an enormously high window, the moon shining through the thin glass, his face was cast in shadows. As Widow was walking up to him, she felt the temperature of the room drop with every step, her insides twisting uncomfortably, as if someone was forcing her hand. The man was growing larger and larger the closer Amélie got, and by the time she was standing in front of the desk, the French assassin felt tiny. Piercing, evil eyes were glaring down at her with malevolent intent. Widow couldn't see them, but she could definitely feel their intensity on her skin.

"She will make you miserable" his voice said without any emotion, cold as the room itself. Each word he spoke echoed in Amélie's head a couple of times, before it slowly faded away. "She is your prey. Not your friend and most certainly not your lover. You don't get involved with prey." His voice was searing through her mind like fire, each word he spoke more convincing than the first. Was this really a dream? It felt so real, like Amélie was really there. It was even more real than her dreams about the other man violating her. Confusion building up inside her, she was left with no other option than to listen to what the stranger had to say, his convincing words waking strange desires in Amélie.

Murderous desires.

The warm feeling of taking a life away. Relishing in the moment when the last delicious drop of life seeps out of their body and into a dark red puddle of blood.

The beautiful reward her body always received after she hurt others. It was _exciting._

It was satisf-

_'Non!'_

Widow squeezed her eyes shut to escape these intimidating, blazing orbs which were gazing into her soul, twisting her newly found beliefs into an abomination.

This was not real. It was an illusion. She was not-

"Look at that idiot" The voice whispered, and Widowmaker had no other choice than to open her eyes again.

She saw Lena in a bed.

It was her... or better yet their bed in Numbani. Tracer was lying underneath her, while Amélie straddled her lap. The Brit was warm, and Widow could feel that calming heat on her cold thighs. But this was not real. It could not be real. Yet why did it feel so real? Was she awake? Or asleep?

That voice was confusing.

"She is taking your joy away. You liked killing. You are good at it. She will destroy who you are. You got so far, worked so hard. Don't risk your life over _prey_ " the voice whispered, and Widowmaker felt her arms moving on their own as she reached out for Tracer's throat. "She is only using you; manipulating you. You are a weapon, not a human. Why would she want to be with you, if not for her own advantage? Only lies and manipulation. She has secrets! You don't want to be near her!" the voice kept whispering, each word pulling at Widow's mind with a painful tug.

"You did that before!" the voice of the man in the room told her "Cut the ties and you can go back to the life you know best. End it now; just like before. Like an emotionless Black Widow. Do it!"

Widowmaker saw now a spider crawling out from underneath Lena's pillow, a small, black spider with slender legs and a red mark on her oversized back. Her long, bony legs were moving carefully on the soft pillow and without any sound toward Lena, the sharp ends of her eight predatory legs sinking into the linen. While the spider kept getting closer to the Brit, Widowmaker's hands were too.

A tired, silent groan made Amélie's hands stop immediately while the Black Widow froze in the same instant. Lena was tiredly shifting underneath her "...Amélie?"

A whisper.

But it felt like the foghorn of a ship in Widowmaker's ears.

 _'It's too late.'_ She thought.

"It is not too late. Kill her!" the voice ordered insistently, the former emotionless and steady tone gone. Widowmaker felt someone pulling her forward, someone was forcing her hand, manipulating her into doing something she didn't want. She remembered feeling like that long ago.

The voice in her head was too convincing while her hands moved further.

_'It's too late.'_

_'Lena Oxton.'_ Widowmaker looked at the girl underneath her, the dangerous spider persevering right next to her face for her deadly strike, looking up to Amélie and waiting for her to go ahead. But Amélie could only concentrate on the lovely Brit as she considered all of their encounters and everything Lena had done for her.

 _For_ her.

Not _to_ her.

_'Lena Oxton. Your incomparable kindness. Your endless confidence. Your annoying warm body temperature. The tears you shed for my sake._

_It's now my everything._

_If I lose you..._

_...How could I possibly endure it?'_

"She wants to destroy you, she-"

 _'She gets to do to me whatever she damn pleases! I will not listen to your manipulations!_ _Casse-toi!'_

Widowmaker yelled in her mind, shaking off the weight of the voice in her head as she smashed the spider next to Lena's face in between her fingers.

Suddenly, the voice was gone. As was the Black Widow. The strange feeling in her head was no more. Widowmaker didn't feel like someone was forcing her to walk into a certain direction.

Whoever was manipulating her was gone now. There was only Lena and herself in the bedroom.

And the former was starting to fully wake up, her beautiful, warm brown eyes glowing peacefully in the moonlight, peering gently into Amélie's soul and filling it with tranquility.

Then Lena realized that Amélie was straddling her, the blanket gone, and her bare upper body completely exposed to her lover.

She shrieked silently, but didn't make a move to cover her perfect breasts. "Amélie?! What are you doing?" she whispered, placing her hands on Widow's knees.

"Be quiet. I was getting a bug" Widowmaker replied and, strictly speaking, not lying.

Lena furrowed a brow "A bug? Other than that, why are you awake at this hour?"

"Because of your snoring" Amélie replied quickly, not wanting to tell Lena that she had almost murdered her in her sleep; much like she did with Gerard.

Lena was silent for a moment, looking deeply into her lover's eyes as she sat up, gently moving her hands from Amélie's knees to her shoulders, gently brushing over her skin in the process. Lena leaned close to Amélie and the French beauty feared that Tracer had sussed her even before she tried to distract. A part of her didn't want to tell Tracer. She was afraid of how the Brit would react.

"You know I don't snore" Lena said with a gentle, reassuring smile, trying to convey a feeling of safety to Amélie as best as she could. The brunette could feel the stiffness of Widow's body, how her lean muscles were tense and shimmered under the pale moonlight, and how her thighs gripped tighly, almost painfully, around Lena's hip. Amélie's beautifully golden eyes were wide open and Tracer was growing more and more worried. Something had startled her lover. Something bad enough for Widow to breathe heavily, almost exhausted. Lena knew she needed to say something which would take the poor girls mind off whatever happened, calm her down before she would broach the matter again. Lena's reassuring smile spread a little wider, encouraged by the way Widow's body started to slowly relax. At least a bit. "Or could it be that our Amélie got heated up in the middle of the night and decided to straddle me... again?" she teased.

"Shut your mouth" Amélie insisted a moment before Lena's warm lips found her own, pressing a gentle kiss to her mouth. Yet this was not like any of the other kisses they shared before. It was careful and especially easy, while Lena's hands were placed on Amélie's shoulders. Her touch soft like a feather, reassuring the French beauty that there was someone ready to hold her if need be, but also making sure she wouldn't feel restrained.

The kiss almost screamed _Its going to be okay,_ and Amélie knew from that moment on that there was no point in hiding it from Lena. The Brit could see right through her. Amélie didn't fear Lena's reaction anymore. The Brit was there for her, like she had been before.

Tracer held Widow for a while, until she felt the cold and stiff body in her arms relax. "You had a nightmare, didn't you?" It wasn't a question. It was a statement, and Tracer placed it with seriousness. Amélie stared at her lover for a moment, seeing the concern in her eyes almost overflowing. Lena Oxton was the only person in this world, who was ever genuinely concerned for Widowmaker. _Or Amélie for that matter_.

The French assassin nodded feebly and Tracer lips perked up for a second, her head slightly tilted as she leaned closer to Widowmaker. The faint moonlight was bathing the entire scene in a cold grey light, making the white blankets glow like they were water in the moonshine. A fresh breeze from the open window brushed over Amélie's and Lena's skin while the city outside was strangely silent. There was only Lena's silent voice with her heavy British accent, which whispered into Amélie's ear.

"Don't be afraid. You are safe with me. I would never hurt you" Lena murmured, holding her French lover tenderly, while Tracer pulled them back down into the bed, readjusting the blanked. Being held in Lena's arms felt better than anything else in this moment could, Amélie felt safe and secure in Tracer's warm embrace, feeling her soft breath brush over her neck and her strong arms holding her close. Their legs entwined in a comfortable manner and Lena knew that Amélie was able to relax again, but she could still feel some of her lover's tension.

"You know that, right, luv?" she asked.

"I do." Amélie sighed sadly "That's not what I am worried about."

"Then what are you worried about? Talk to me" Lena said, and noticed how Amélie started shaking and shivering in her arms. "Hey, hey. What's wrong?" she asked gently, carefully turning Widow around in her arms. Lena thought it was just a nightmare, just temporary distress, something which would go away soon enough. But apparently there was more to it. Way more.

Amélie looked horrified.

And that sent Tracer's guts into a painful twist.

"I'm sorry, _chérie_." she pressed out, her voice bitter "I'm sorry!" Amélie didn't immediately realize what had happened. How _close_ she was to actually killing her Lena. How she would have followed the voice's orders, if not:

"If you wouldn't have woken up, I'd... I'd... There was a voice, and a spider, and the voice kept whispering. He was so convincing" she stammered confused. She didn't notice that there was a single tear running down her cheek before Lena carefully wiped it away from Amélie's cold face, listening and allowing her to continue. "I would have killed you. I almost strangled you. And I couldn't stop myself."

"It's okay" Lena replied calmly. There was no way she would freak out now. Everyone else most likely would have made a beeline for the door, but not Tracer. She would _not_ abandon Widow because things were difficult. Tracer was aware that things would be _difficult_ from the first second she acknowledged certain feelings towards Widowmaker. Some minor setbacks or other obstacles had never stopped the great Lena Oxton from doing something before and she would not start now.

"It's _not_ okay! Don't you understand? I will be the one who hurts you!" Widow hissed, struggling in Lena's arms.

"You won't" Tracer said firmly, not allowing Amélie to get away from her. At least not now. "I know." she added sincerely.

"But I..."

"No. That was Talon and what they did to you." Lena's voice was soft and calming and Widow realized that she couldn't realy escape the Brit's embrace. Neither did she want to anymore. She was feeling so warm and safe in Lena's arms. Lena continued after a moment in which she allowed Widow to adjust her position in her arms "You are different. What they did to you will go away over time; I am sure of it"

"How can you-"

"Hush" Lena shut Widow up with her lips. "Don't think about that now. Nothing happened. I am fine. You are fine. You won't hurt me, okay?"

"I trust you" Amélie replied, cuddling closer to Tracer. It sounded an awful lot like _I love you._

A beaming smile spread over Tracer's face and her heart might have skipped a beat or two.

"So do I." Lena answered back, pulling the other girl closer to her and drawing soothing circles on her back. It didn't take long for Widow's breathing to grow slow and steady again while Tracer held her through the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, before all you Pharmercy fans out there head over to the darknet and search for construction plans on letter bombs you could send to me, let me tell you something... and spoiler you.
> 
> Fareeha isn't dead.
> 
> Relax, there is a plan behind it. While I do have a habit to kill of quite a few characters in my stories, I usually don't kill the ones I like. And I like Pharah. I also like Mercy, Tracer, Widow and Dva. *wink* Just so you know who is on my good side. Now that doesn't mean I am nice to the characters I like. I just don't kill them off (without a fight). The Mercy fans might want to keep that scotch around for a little longer in the future chapters... I certainly needed quite a lot of it.
> 
> -/-
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Erschießen! (German) Shoot her!
> 
>  
> 
> If you want to support the story, despite me doing stuff the way I do, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction


	14. Your name is Angela Ziegler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok guys and girls. I say this in all seriousness now. This chapter is dark. Like, properly dark. We are talking explicit, heavy torture. Don't worry, we aren't going back to such depth again in this story, if you made it through this, I promise you have seen the worst.
> 
> I hope you have that bottle of Scotch still somewhere. You might need it.

_Newsflash: In the late evening Washington DC was struck by yet another wave of violence. For yet unknown reasons a minor population of Omnics seemed to have attacked civilians in the area of the capitol, claiming the lives of 32 civilians and 56 officers of the armed response team dispatched to deal with the situation. As of now it appears the area has been pacified. 124 Omnics have been permanently disabled after an hour long gunfight._

_But not only America is the source of bad news._

_Reports from Zürich, Switzerland indicate that there has been an armed attack on the annual Congress of Medical affairs. The situation on site is very unclear as of now, as the police is currently investigating, and the whole area has been locked down, but as reports keep coming in, it seems that various guests of the congress have been abducted by unknown human assailants. It has been confirmed that the well known Dr. Angela Ziegler is among the victims, her bodyguard was found dead in an alley next to the event hall. Ziegler, who is best known for her Nobel prize winning resurrection technology, which was deemed unethical by the WHO, was a long time Overwatch member and passionate world-peace activist. Her whereabouts remain unknown as of now. While the UN has yet to comment on the events of both DC and Zürich, people are organizing impromptu protests under the motto of 'Peace for People - Bring back Overwatch'._

_Meanwhile Thiery_ _Savant, a French businessman who has recently announced his candidacy for the position of the UN general secretary, declared that, should he be elected into office, he'd work hard to put an end to these continuous waves of violence, promising that he'd do whatever it took to stop both the terror attacks as well as the Omnic rebels. He addressed specifically those increasing numbers of people demanding the abolishment of the Petras act and the re-activation of Overwatch. He told all those demanding the re-establishment of Overwatch that while this is an option worth considering, there are other effective options to evaluate before changing existing laws. He promised that, should he be elected, there would be decisive measures to ensure world peace in a desirable way._

_In recent surveys Thiery Savant had been at a close second place to the current general secretary Lilith Royce. His strong position for a decisive fight against terror and Omnic attacks could grant Savant the necessary advantage in the upcoming elections as the general mood is swinging toward a more aggressive approach for solving these problems._

**-/-**

**Unmarked Talon controlled freighter, North sea, 1209 hours.**

Angela Ziegler's world was dark, as she had yet to regain consciousness.

That state was rather violently forced upon her when she felt a sharp pain stinging her cheek accompanied by a loud smacking noise.

"Nap time is over. Wake up, bitch!" a breathy voice yelled. Mercy's eyes fluttered open after another heavy and painful smack to her face. Her lower lip was throbbing, and she had a metallic taste in her mouth.

Blood.

Mercy swallowed heavily, trying to comprehend what was going as she forced her eyes open. Her memory was completely blank, and there was an annoying tingling pain in the back of her head. _'Gah, what happened?'_ Angela squeezed her eyes shut for a second and opened them again, hoping it would somehow improve her blurry vision... which it only did partly, yet enough to take in her surroundings.

The first thing Mercy noticed was how dirty the room around her was. The filthy metal was covered in a mix of brown-red rust and an indistinguishable green slime, most likely some kind of algae. The dim light, coming from an old dark green lampshade, was softly swinging back and forth. Just like a few heavy chains, not any less rusty than the walls, which were hanging from strong metal rails on the ceiling. Mercy had to be on some kind of ship.

Apart from that, there wasn't an awful lot worth mentioning in the small room other than maybe the revolting stench of decay and old blood. Strangely enough, there also was the slightest hint of hot coffee in the air, but that was basically everything. Oh, yes, and the uncomfortable chair Mercy was currently sitting on. Her slender arms were tied tightly to the armrests and her legs bound to each side of the chair. The rope was sharp and cut deeply into her skin.

Mercy's head was hurting like the twelve o'clock train just rushed through it, but she was sure the reason for that weren't the two punches to her face before. Her memories were starting to go from nonexistent to hazy.

She had been to the medical convention which she had been looking forward to for quite some time. That much Mercy remembered. Pharah accompanied her and... suddenly everything came back to her in an instant.

Talon's attack in Zürich.

Pharah and her attempted escape from the terror organization, the RPG which blew their car up, and Fareeha getting executed in front of Angela's burning eyes before Talon abducted her.

And now Mercy was tied to this chair inside a damp and moldy room God knows where. She took a deep breath which would have almost proven a mistake. The smell was so disgusting, Mercy almost puked. But the doctor knew she had to try and stay calm and, even more importantly, quiet for now. There were heavy footsteps walking around somewhere behind her. So she was not alone. Obviously someone had to have smacked her before.

Angela took this opportunity to gather as much information about her circumstances. There were a couple of cameras on tripods which were recording her and opposite to her the rusty wall was interrupted by a large mirror. Most likely one of these semi see-through versions with a small room on the other side. Mercy saw her reflection in the mirror, her formerly perfectly white dress dirty and torn. Her hair had become undone and was falling out of the tight topknot she liked to tie.

Angela looked almost as filthy as she felt. Strangely enough, whoever had punched her in the face was nowhere to be seen in the reflection. Angela could only hear that person move around somewhere behind her.

She groaned, looking down on her body, and saw that something on her lower arm, shortly above the inside of her wrist, wasn't quite the way it used to be. Something was added which should not have been there. Mercy had to concentrate on the spot for a moment, her eyes still not fully complying to her brain's orders. But once they did, Mercy immediately recognized what was added to her body.

Now there was a bar-code tattooed onto her forearm, a mark which obviously had not been there before. It bore some horribly close resemblance to the identification number of a pig in a slaughter-house. Apparently Angela Ziegler was little else to Talon.

A wave of panic started to get the better of Angela while she inwardly cursed the people who did this to her; the very same people who had _executed_ Pharah. The mere thought made Mercy so _angry._ The doctor usually wasn't one to be easily enraged, but, as with everyone, there was a certain line which, once crossed, made Mercy see red. And that line was if someone dared to mess with her family. Pharah might have been a very new member of her Overwatch-family, but she still was family. And someone dared to hurt her. Dared to shoot her in front of Mercy's eyes.

Inwardly, she was fuming, way angrier at Talon than actually scared.

Still, Angela knew full well that the things which were to come would hardly be enjoyable and that she _should_ be scared.

She needed to compose herself. Dr. Ziegler had been an Overwatch operative. She was taught how to handle herself in these situations and she promised herself that she _would_ get out of here -wherever _here_ was supposed to be - and home safe and sound. No matter what.

And then she'd make Talon her public enemy number one. She would avenge Fareeha.

The sound of heavy footsteps on rusty ground was coming closer, and a figure holding a steaming hot mug in his hand walked into her view. Angela gulped as she prepared her mind for what she knew would come soon. Interrogation counteraction training had been some time ago for her, but Angela _remembered._ It wasn't like the stuff they taught you during these two weeks of necessary hell was easily forgotten.

Right now she was happy that her arguments of 'a field medic not needing any training in these kind of affairs' was met by deaf ears of her superiors.

Mercy grunted as she tried to pull on her restrains, knowing nothing would happen, but still wanting to at least _try._ She yanked two times on her hands and her feet, only for the ropes to cut in deeper into her flesh.

"That is wasted energy" the creepy male said, smirking at Mercy in a very unsettling way before sipping from his mug, making an obnoxious, slurping sound. The nameless man wasn't at all like Mercy expected. From the sound he made while he was moving, the guy had to be at least 6' 5'' tall and more than 350 pound heavy.

But that wasn't the case

The man was a beanpole if there ever was one. And while he _was_ ridiculously tall, he quite literally lacked any substance apart from his bones and some grey skin to hold it all together. His face was pale and sunken, and his eyes were glowing red while his hair was almost as white as snow. The man wore a black uniform underneath a dark grey rubber apron, which reminded Mercy horribly of the things butchers at a slaughterhouse wore. There was dried blood on the apron as well.

' _Oh Gott..._ '

The interrogator bowed down to Angela's forcibly composed face, letting a hand run up on the inside of Mercy's thigh before he turned it outwards and continued up her side. Mercy tried not to twitch at his disgusting touch, but she probably failed to some extent. Her body was too tense; she couldn't tell. His boney hand was gliding up her body, suddenly cupping her chin, lifting it up with two fingers. Angela noticed that the torturer was wearing at least one ring on almost every finger, some made from silver, some were golden, but all were rather large.

"It's good to see that you have finally woken up, Dr. Ziegler" he whispered in a mocking tone, his breath smelling rotten and like cold smoke. Mercy tried to turn her face away in disgust, at least as far as his skinny fingers would allow her to.

The doctor felt her heart rate skyrocket, but she did her best to let this go by unnoticed. She needed to concentrate. Mercy knew there was torture ahead of her and she needed to be ready. The nanoprobes her body was constantly producing would help her, but she would still have to steel her mind for what Talon had in store for her. "I have been growing impatient" the man murmured and sounded positively excited, almost needy, about getting started.

 _'Oh great, someone who likes his job.'_ Naturally, Dr. Ziegler's excitement was very limited at this point.

"And who are you supposed to be?" Angela asked, trying to completely ignore the hand roaming freely over her beautiful body. Luckily she was still wearing that dress, otherwise Mercy would have thrown up. If touching her was supposed to _scare_ her, it failed miserably. At least Angela tried to tell herself that she wasn't scared. She insisted that, if anything, she was _disgusted._ "And get your filthy hands off me, _Arschloch_ " she hissed.

The man's face fell. He took a moment in which he didn't move, and Mercy almost suspected she might have struck a nerve. Then, out of nowhere, he brought his other hand forward, the one holding his steaming hot mug, and hurled the entire cup of boiling coffee straight into her face.

A fraction of a second Mercy didn't feel anything. Then the pain hit her like a gigantic tsunami, her skin feeling like it was torn off by acid and on fire all the same time, while the hot liquid was flowing down her face and onto her body, burning her flesh.

No matter how hard she tried not to, Mercy cried in pain, her hands gripping tightly on the chair's armrest as she tried to shake the liquid off her face. But the damage was done, it felt like someone was rubbing the skin off her attractive face with rough sandpaper.

It took some minutes until the pain had faded away and Angela didn't scream anymore. She was breathing heavily, glad that the nasty scars and burns on her face and chest would be gone in a few minutes again. Her self-healing would both proof a blessing and a curse. A blessing because she would be able to survive way more than ordinary humans, and a curse for the very same reason.

"You talk only when I ask you to!" the man ordered harshly "But you are right; how rude of me, not introducing myself properly. Where are my manners?" he laughed haughtily "My name is Archibald Montgomery. Welcome to my kingdom." he whispered creepily. "We are going to have a lot of fun together while I mold you into your new self"

Somehow Mercy expected more.

Sure, the pain fading from her face was enough of a reminder that this guy was not to be underestimated, but still. Angela expected more, she thought he would threaten her with more pain or with whatever else. But that was... it was ridiculous.

He was mocking her.

And that made Angela furious. After all those sick fucks did to her and, even more importantly, after they killed Pharah, they don't even have the decency to take her seriously?

She was past her no-violence philosophy. Negotiations weren't over; they never started. Angela swore that she'd kill them all. With her own two hands, she'd rip them to pieces and she would start with this guy in front of her. As soon as she got out of this hell, she'd make him pay.

Her blood was boiling and, for a second, there might have been a faint purplish shimmer in her otherwise ocean blue eyes; one that Montgomery missed.

This would hardly be the first time the otherwise peaceful and gentle Mercy would turn into her polar opposite. It was almost like a devil replaced the spot usually occupied by an angel at the push of a button. Usually she hated violence or the use thereof, but then there were certain moments, especially when Angela felt someone was threatening people she cared for, when that changed on a whim. Mercy would then start to absolutely _adore_ violence. She then enjoyed some very unpleasant moments in rather twisted ways, taking deep pleasure out of hurting those who _dared_ to hurt others.

It made Angela feel detached from the world, both physically and emotionally, and Mercy would get an almost godlike feeling, becoming quite literally the master of death and life, deciding who would walk away and who would decay in the dust. Whenever that happened, everyone seemed all so small and unimportant, like they were merely toys Mercy could bend to her will. That was one of her best kept secrets. The only person on earth aware of it was Tracer.

The last time Angela felt like this was when she had finally found the guy who had been poisoning the water-source of a child-refugee camp in Africa a couple of years ago.

Mercy had been spending months there to help the kids as best as she could. She was making slow progress, but then, out of nowhere, the kids started dying like flies, and Angela had no idea what was going on or how to stop it. She had lost all 320 kids in the end before she figured out that there was poison in the spring. It wasn't lethal to adults; just to kids. And that was when Angela figured that it was yet another day to abandon her non-violence philosophy. Someone had been hurting her patients; those she swore to protect. Her family. That person had to die. The doctor was brutally binary in that regard, again, something only Tracer really was aware of. Lena never commented on that darker side of her best friend. Angela was eternally grateful for that.

Mercy found the culprit a few days later in a brothel filled with child-prostitutes. She threatened to skin him alive, explaining how she'd cut where while displaying her vast knowledge of the human anatomy, before the bastard confessed. Mercy didn't hesitate long, and shot him right between the eyes. Angela hated to admit that she _enjoyed_ punishing him. It was... amusing. Killing that bastard felt good.

Yet it had little to nothing to do with her current situation.

This now? With this crazy torturer about to do God knows what to her? Why did Mercy get the same feeling she had that day? There it was again, that... amusing feeling. Yet this time, it was less because Mercy enjoyed her situation, because she clearly didn't; this time it was actually more _comical._

His _kingdom?_ What was this guy thinking? Didn't he take himself seriously at all? Or was he actually believing his own bullshit? Mercy's lips escaped a slightly bemused snort.

Which probably wasn't the smartest idea the doctor ever had.

"Oh, you think that is laughable?" Montgomery asked, raising a brow. He looked rather murderous in that moment.

"Your kingdom? Please. I am sure you could have come up with something both more intimidating and original, _oder nicht?_ " Mercy replied. Montgomery nodded slowly before he leaned close to Angela, grabbing the neck of her dress and roughly tearing it down. The fine silk tore apart with a loud noise as he ripped the fabric apart.

"You don't get it, do you? You are in my kingdom because I can do with you whatever I please. No one cares as long as I get the job done." he said, roughly ripping Mercy's dress in two halves. He took a moment to stare at her now exposed chest. "Ts ts. No bra. What a filthy bitch" he laughed, patting her cheek way too hard to be friendly. Obviously.

The lids on Montgomery's left eye were twitching as he noticed that the beautiful burn on Angela's face and chest was already gone. He read her file and knew she could do that whole self-healing thing, but still, Archibald hoped it wouldn't work so fast. Where was the fun in that?

Mercy just snorted in bemusement at his strange expression. That brought Montgomery back as he stepped in reverse a little before punching Mercy straight across her face without any warning. His knuckles impacted harshly on Angela's face, the true function of his many rings becoming painfully apparent while they pierced through her skin. The doctor's head was yanked to the side, and the skin on her cheekbone burst open, dark red blood streaming out of the wound. Her lower lip was throbbing in pain again, and Mercy had an iron taste in her mouth yet another time.

"Still think this is funny?" Archibald asked before he hit the other side of Mercy's face as well, followed by a hard kick into her stomach. His heavy military boots connected with her abdomen. If the torturer had aimed just a little bit higher, he would have smashed a few of Angela's ribs. Her chair tripped from the impact and crashed roughly to the floor. Angela's head smashed against the ground and there was a short second of all consuming darkness rising in her head, while she was coughing up blood.

She didn't even want to know how that would have felt for a normal human, because it felt _really_ bad for her, and her body was capable of sustaining much more damage than she could have _before_ she worked on herself. So much research for medical equipment which was deemed too dangerous to license by the WHO. Mercy wouldn't destroy years of hard work or let it collect dust in a corner. So, she used it on the only person she was allowed to: Herself.

Mercy knew she certainly didn't look the part, but the Swiss doctor could _really_ absorb blows. Her nanoprobe enhanced physiology, which she had been working on all her life, was good for more than stopping her aging. It immediately repaired inflicted damage, at least to a non-fatal degree. If only the WHO would have licensed her technology for mass use, more people could live with this benefit. She had tried so hard to convince them, spending months talking to their representatives, telling them that her technology was safe, that is was able to solve almost _all_ medical problems. That she had found the solutions and all they had to do was to take it and use it.

But they didn't. They thought it was too dangerous. Too much technology inside a human body. The risk of the Omnics finding some way to tamper with her technology and turning it into a weapon too high. Thus, Mercy stayed the only one with this kind of ability. Not that she wouldn't have shared. It was all the WHO's fault.

And while Archibald's blows were painful, Angela knew they wouldn't leave a trace on her. Just like her burns from the coffee, which were most likely already gone again. Knowing that was a huge mental confidence booster. No matter how much he would try to hurt her, and no matter how much it would actually hurt, as long as Mercy didn't cry out or admit the pain, it wouldn't leave any marks on her. No proof of the torturers work. Not that Angela was confident that she wouldn't cry, because she already did that.

But judging from his lusty smile, this guy enjoyed his job. So, taking this satisfaction away from him would be quite interesting.

Quite... amusing. She could hurt him by not screaming.

Mercy was actually laughing now, which was visibly annoying to Montgomery. She took the opportunity to get the upper hand; at least the mental one. Angela promised herself she would not sit here and pretend to be an easy victim. She would make this _very_ hard for Archibald Montgomery. As hard as she could. For as long as she could.

Someone would come to rescue her sooner or later.

"Oh, you think you are so clever, don't you?" Mercy laughed, still lying on the ground, ignoring the dull, throbbing pain in the back of her head. "Tie a girl naked to a chair and you already expect we piss ourselves out of shame." Mercy smiled a devious smirk at her tormenter as the wound on her cheek quickly closed itself. No more than ten seconds after it was inflicted upon her it was already gone again. The pain would fade away soon after. "You look at me and only see the fragile little miss Doctor who can't defend herself. Who tries to help others and refuses to use violence. You see her and you think her kindness and peaceful nature is a weakness. But don't misunderstand. Refusing to use violence does not make me weak, or fragile. It just proves that I am more advanced in solving my issues than you are. You think you are shaming me here, because you ripped my clothes off? Or hurting me because you can beat me up while I am tied to a chair? Please. My body heals quickly, and if you think you can humiliate me, you will only humiliate yourself. You aren't the first one to see me naked, and you won't be the last either." Mercy stared at her tormenter, her deep blue eyes almost looking a little violet in the dim light of the torture chamber. She was dead serious about this. Her laughing died off as she promised herself that she would _win_ this game no matter what the odds were.

She just had to hold out. Someone would come to help her. It was only a matter of time until the heavy door into the room would be blown out of its angles followed by Tracer blinking through the hole with guns blazing.

Angela could see it in front of her eyes already. And Mercy also knew that her best friend would have a snippy comment about Angela's state of undress on her lips.

However, now it was Montgomery's time to chuckle as he leaned over Mercy, roughly pulling the chair up with her obviously still tied to it. Immediately he elbowed her violently in her chest, making Angela gasp for air for a moment. "You are adorable. It has been some time since I got to break the last fighter." he laughed with chilling excitement. "But don't get me wrong. You aren't the first one who sat on this chair and talked big. And as you so eloquently put it, you won't be the last either" he grinned devilishly before he reached out and pinched one of Angela's nipples, tearing it forward until Mercy was almost certain he would rip it off. The pain rushing into her body was almost proving too much and she may have flinched slightly before Montgomery let go again.

"But there is the big difference between your point and mine. Where you think you will walk away from this, I know you won't. In the end, it's the same for each and every last one of you. You all do my bidding. Some of you sooner. Some later. Some need to be hurt more, some less, but no matter what, in the end, they all do what I say without even thinking about it twice. When I am done with you, _Mercy_ , you will gladly hurt those you call your friends now. And you will _like_ it. So much so, that you will come crawling back to me, _begging_ me for more" he smiled an eerie smile at her, revealing his sharp teeth and long fangs while his red eyes were glowing brightly "I can promise you that much." Montgomery reassured, punching Angela in her face once again, this time even harder.

Angela had to admit that maybe she was a little over-confident concerning her ability to not show how much this actually hurt. She would live through this. Angela told that to herself as she felt the newest scar on her body close itself.

She would live through this hell, and she would pay them back for what they did to Fareeha Amari. No one messes with her Overwatch family and walks away from it unpunished on Mercy's watch.

"Though I admit that your self-healing is annoying me. We'll have to figure something out in that regard" he said, walking past Mercy before pulling a small cart, much like the ones used in operation rooms for the different tools, to her side. He stood between the doctor and the metal wagon so Angela didn't see what was going on. The rattling of metallic instruments, however, was doing little to calm her down.

' _Relax, take a deep breath. You will get out of here. Concentrate. He is arrogant; use that against him. Keep a clear mind and remember who you are and why you are here. Your name is Angela Ziegler. You work for Overwatch. You were abducted by Talon. Someone will come and rescue you. I just need to hold out. I just-'_ Angela's self-preparation was cut short by Archibald.

"Screwdriver, knife, or nail?" Montgomery asked indecisively, while he was clicking his heel to the floor in an unsteady pattern. The sound was unnerving.

"What?" Angela asked in shock. She didn't even want to know.

"Ah, never mind. I figured it out" he laughed, grabbing something from the cart. "Hey, do you want to see what our big brains at the research department have planned for you?" he suddenly asked, turning around with a smug smile on his ugly, chapped lips. He hid whatever he picked up from the cart somewhere behind him so Mercy couldn't see it.

Angela snorted in disgust, rolling her eyes "It's not like I'd have a choice."

"Correct, you don't." Montgomery laughed before it suddenly vanished. From one second to the next, his laugh was simply gone, just like someone flicked a switch. Then, he showed Angela two rusty old nails, which he had been hiding, and nodded toward them. A moment of silence spread between the torturer and his victim before he violently slammed the two nails deeply into Mercy's thighs, one into her left and one into her right. The sound was god-awful, especially when the tip pierced through her and into the chair. She could almost feel the rough rust rubbing off on the insides of her flesh, its remnants being carried away into her bloodstream.

Mercy tried not to, but she couldn't contain her pain-filled cry which escaped loudly through her teeth. That shit _did_ hurt quite a lot. "But I don't like you talking back to me, so these little fellows will stay here for a while." he smiled at her, giving each nail a quick flick before he turned around and walked past Mercy to grab something else behind her. Montgomery returned moments later with two long starter cables which he clipped to the heads of the nails. The other ends were apparently already fixed to a power source. "I like the sound of you screaming though." He chuckled.

Mercy knew what would come, but the shock of the sudden electric current rushing through her body, sending her muscles into a painful frenzy and robbing her of any control she had, was way more brutal than she had anticipated.

"So scream some more for me!"

Her mind was painfully forced _blank_ from one moment to the next. There was nothing but pain filling her head, and body and the world around her was clouded by darkness. Angela's heart was close to exploding as adrenaline levels were rising well above critical levels. She may have screamed, or maybe she didn't; Mercy had no idea. There was just this horrible, all shattering tension in every last fiber of her body, and it felt like her flesh was on fire. If this would go on for a moment longer she'd-

Suddenly, the current was gone again, and Mercy slumped in her chair, breathing heavily, trying to regain some composure, but failing. Even though the electricity wasn't rushing through her anymore, her nerves were still firing rapidly, desperately trying to compensate the now absent current. Mercy felt like she was boiled from the inside. Slight steam was rising up from her legs, where the nails were stuck, and she realized that she had bitten her lips tightly enough to draw blood. Just like her palms, which her nails were buried into. She didn't know when she let go of the armrests. Angela's legs were still shaking violently despite the current being turned off. It was most likely an after-effect.

"Oh, don't worry. That gets most people" Montgomery laughed, leaning close to Angela. "Why beat around the bush, don't you agree? I don't have enough coffee around here for you. But don't worry, that was just the foreplay. The really fun stuff will come soon enough once the doctor arrives. Just for you, we recruited a good friend of yours. I bet you will like him and the stuff he fills you up with" Archibald's eyes were glowing in anticipation as he imagined the pain he'd bring upon this woman. He didn't care what Talon did with them afterward. He was paid to turn them into blank hulls; worn out and exhausted to the point where Talon's brainwashers had an easy job of it.

And he always did his job before he handed them over to Talon's scientists to work their magic. Archibald never saw his _friends_ again after that.

And he was fine with it.

Mercy lifted her head up to look at him with the most murderous glare Angela had ever shot anyone, before she spit into his face. The pink slime was smeared just below his left eye and slowly running down his greenish pale cheek.

Angela would _not_ be broken here. She would _never_ allow that.

Montgomery's priggish smile froze as he hesitated for a moment. There was fury building up inside of him, and a part of Mercy was proud that she had angered this bastard far enough for him to grow so livid. Yet she was well aware who would pay the price for his anger.

He reached for a piece of dirty cloth on the small wagon full of different torture instruments where the nails and jump cables had also been from. He quickly wiped Mercy's bloody spit off his face before he jumped forward and roughly stuffed the cloth into her mouth.

"Well, you asked for it" he shrugged nonchalantly. Mercy's helpless body was tortured by electricity seconds later. Montgomery disappeared behind Angela, and she neither saw what he was doing there, nor could she concentrate on the noises he made while the painful current was rushing through her body once again, numbing everything worldly out and replacing it with nothing but stinging pain.

It felt like hours, yet it could hardly have been more than a minute before the flood of electricity disappeared again as fast as it came. It was even worse the second time.

Montgomery was pushing something on castors and covered by a large white blanket into Mercy's view. "Look! That's our little gift to you. Despite you being such a brat, you get something from us. At least... once you behave" he said with a sly grin "since you like to wear wings so much, we had these made for you" Montgomery pulled the blanket off the object and revealed a pair of large black wings with feathers as dark as the night. They were held in between a special frame made of premium steel. Lots of tiny tubes and little wires were connected to the end of these long, dark wings, and a whole array of diagnostic devices apparently made sure they stayed operational. "They were specifically bioengineered for your body, doctor. It was very complicated to procure a genetic sample from you, but we luckily had some help there. They were growing for months now, waiting for their new owner. Once your progress is satisfactory, they will be implanted in your body. Maybe even a little sooner, depending on how much you struggle."

Mercy stared at the large wings, struggling to comprehend what was going on. Her massive intellect felt like it was reduced to nothing but wobbly goo as she waited for Montgomery's words to make any kind of sense. All she saw were those wings which could have been beautiful in literally any other scenario but this one. On a stage, as a prop, they would surely have been amazing; really impressive and the sign of an expensive production. But right in this moment, being told they were bio-engineered specifically for her and that they soon would be implanted on her back, she could not find a single positive aspect to these abominations. And where normally Mercy would have been interested in the technologies and the procedures used for such a project, she now had nothing but disgust left.

"What do you say?" Montgomery asked before raising an eyebrow. "Right, can't say anything" he chuckled to himself before ripping the cloth out of Angela's mouth, leaving an uncomfortable dryness behind.

"You are crazy." Mercy simply stated.

Montgomery laughed "No, no, nooo. Crazy would be to pump my own body full of nanoprobes to bypass aging. Crazy would be to look like a 25 year old at 37. Crazy is also being able to resurrect the dead. All things you did, or things you can do. Powers only God should possess. And now we want those powers."

" _Ihr habt wohl nicht mehr alle Tassen im Schrank?!_ I will never tell you what you want to know. Never!"

"Oh, don't worry. You won't need to tell us." Montgomery laughed as he shoved the cloth back into Mercy's mouth before he turned the electricity back on for a moment, enjoying the violent shaking of Angela's beautiful body.

"You will show us soon enough. Just like Dr. Müller already did. He didn't last very long. It was a bit disappointing, to be honest. But placing him at the convention was a good idea. So much information." Montgomery said, as he nodded toward the door.

Mercy stared blankly as the old metal gate was pulled open and her former colleague, the one she attended the convention with and whose company she found rather pleasant, entered the room. He was wearing a dark grey lab coat while he pushed a small wagon in front of him, a plethora of different liquids, IV-bags, and other chemicals on it. Dr. Ziegler recognized some of the labels, and was anything but reassured. These were some very, _very_ nasty drugs they had on there. They were also some very illegal drugs. Simply because of the horrible things they could do if applied in the wrong way. Or in the right way, depending on what you wanted to achieve in the first place.

Staring at Dr. Müller, it dawned on Angela, that he had more the latter than the former in mind. His eyes were glowing in the same red as Montgomery's as he eyed Mercy.

"Doctor, please begin" Montgomery said and the kind and gentle physician, who Mercy had gotten to know nodded coolly.

"Of course" he replied without hesitation, picking up different supplies from the wagon.

" _Nein, Doktor Müller, ich bitte Sie!_ "Angela screamed against her gag as her colleague started to plug an IV into her arm. An uncomfortable burning sensation was already spreading into her body, making Angela's resolve to stand through this crumble. " _Hören Sie auf!_ " she tried to yell, but her voice was nothing but an incoherent mumble.

"I don't know who you are talking about, Talon test-subject 627" he replied in an emotionless tone. Mercy frowned, her eyes darting to the tattoo on her arm. Just now did she realize the numbers written underneath it.

"Oh, yes! I completely forgot about that!" Montgomery mockingly face palmed "You don't have a name anymore. From now on you are TTS-627" Montgomery laughed. "I'll go and have some lunch now. But don't worry, I will be back in a jiffy. Have fun 627" he said, passing Dr. Müller a remote control for what was supposedly the switch to electrocute Mercy further.

Angela took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

_'Your name is Angela Ziegler. My name is Angela Ziegler. I am from Zürich. My best friend is Lena Oxton. I met her at Overwatch. Talon executed my bodyguard and friend in Zürich. Her name was Fareeha Amari. I will not give in to anything Talon promises. Someone will come and rescue me. All I need to do is be patient.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so there was that. I don't suspect a lot of you enjoyed this chapter, but maybe I got you shaken up a little bit. Being a captive of Talon is no fun. Maybe you get an idea of what hell Amélie had to go through.
> 
> I dropped some bits of Mercy's past here and there to give everyone a bit of time to relax in between and fill some holes concerning her. Personally I like to imagine Mercy as someone who has two modi operandi. Either the sweet angelic creature who cares about those she holds close, willing to help whoever needs her. Or the polar opposite, an almost evil part of her, which comes forth should someone dare to hurt the people Mercy cares about, making her mercilessly hunt the culprits.
> 
> I feel like the two different types of skins we get ingame (ignoring the Valkyrie skins, which would have a totally different meaning, considering what Valkyries mean in history) should have some importance for her character. I hope you all agree with that. It's not like devil Mercy will be a frequent thing in the future, if at all.
> 
> Well, that's it, basically.
> 
> If you want to support the story, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction  
> -/-
> 
> Some translations:
> 
> Ihr habt wohl nicht mehr alle Tassen im Schrank?! = (German) You got to have a few screws loose somewhere?!
> 
> Nein, Doktor Müller, ich bitte Sie! = (German) No, Doctor Müller, I beg you!
> 
> Hören Sie auf! = (German) Stop it!


	15. The bonds of friendship

**Numbani, safe house at an unknown location, 0933 hours.**

Something wasn't quite right. There was something important missing. Widowmaker could tell that this was not the way she had fallen asleep the night before. For instance, there were now cheeky rays of sunlight shining through the open window, tickling at her nose. She didn't have to open her eyes to know that; the annoying warmth on her face was more than enough proof.

Speaking of annoying warmth, there was another form of it which Widow had gotten used to during the night... but now even that was gone. It felt like a part of her was missing, like someone had taken away the better half of her. The assassin had to admit that she had never slept so soundly. Tracer had held her tightly troughout the night.

Amélie was well aware of how ridiculous that sounded, but somehow, when she was lying in Lena's arms, her warmth seeping into the cold body and her breath gentle against her neck, Amélie felt incredibly safe. In that moment she just _knew_ that no harm would come to her as long as she could stay buried in Tracer's embrace, her face nestled in the crook of Lena's neck.

And now that embrace was gone.

Gone and replaced by a metallic rattling and a strange smell.

A strange one, but also a _delicious one._

Widow listened for a minute, before she had to open her eyes. Carefully, she turned around in her bed which was a complete mess. An obvious after-sex bed, if there ever was one. It still smelled a lot like Lena, who was not present now. That was a good thing. The Brit's scent was wonderful in her nose.

Amélie's eyes wandered through the tiny trash of an apartment, quickly spotting Lena.

To Widowmaker's credit, she didn't get the nosebleed which she suspected she had. A wipe with the back of her hand under her nose proved that there was no trail of her deep purple blood on it. The reason for Amélie's sudden increase of heart rate was standing in front of the tiny, tiny kitchen area, doing so with nothing but her chronal accelerator strapped to her chest and a pair of adorably cute light grey knickers. They were hugging her body tightly, being cut to show a large portion of Tracer's criminally attractive looking butt while pulling off a very charming innocence; an innocence Widow knew now Tracer didn't have. The knickers still looked marvelous on the Brit.

And that was it.

Tracer apparently didn't deem more clothing necessary.

And Widow was far from complaining as she crawled out of the bed and grabbed the next best random piece of clothing she got into her fingers... which just so happened to be Lena's shirt from the day before. Widow's bodysuit was nowhere to be seen, but she could not bring herself to care while she slipped into the shirt.

It was tight and small, but that wasn't important. The cotton in the same color as Tracer's knickers was soft and just like the bed, that is, it smelled of Lena. Widowmaker loved it, even though she was still basically naked.

Silently she snuck up to Tracer from behind, reaching out to surprise her lover with a hug, when suddenly:

"Heya." Lena's cheerful voice said without turning around "Slept well, luv?"

Widowmaker froze for a moment, disappointed that Tracer noticed her approach, before she delicately wrapped her arms around Tracer's waist and let her chin rest on Lena's shoulder.

" _Bonjour, ma chérie_ " Widow hummed, pecking Tracer's neck. The Brit just giggled cutely while she was preparing breakfast. The scrambled eggs and bacon smelled wonderful in the hot pan, the sound of frying butter a welcome sound in the background.

"You hungry?" Tracer asked with a hum, enjoying the touch of Widowmaker softly hanging to her back. She could be so gentle when she wanted to; so caring and careful.

 _If_ she wanted to.

A few months ago Tracer would have deemed everyone, telling her that she'd spend the night with the world's most wanted assassin and actually enjoy her company, absolutely insane. Yet, here she was, and Tracer had never in her life been more comfortable around anyone before. Maybe Angela, but that was something different.

"Mhhh" Amélie replied, licking down on Tracer's neck and softly nibbling on the rather badly bruised flesh of her shoulder. Widowmaker definitely left her marks on Tracer, and it turned her on more than anything that the Brit was running around topless, showing these marks off for the world to see. Even if this world was only the person who marked her in such a way. It didn't matter. Widowmaker had claimed Lena for now and all eternity. "Hungry for you" she purred, a hand moving up from Tracer's hip to circle around one of her breasts.

Lena sucked in a sharp breath "Amélie, not now" she tried, but her voice was nothing short of a hot moan.

"You don't sound too convincing, _chérie_ " Widowmaker hummed into Lena's ear, showering her shoulder in kisses.

"T-That's because... because you and I haven't eaten since yesterday" Lena replied in an attempt at defiance, but it was just for show at this point. She knew there was no escaping the Widow's web.

"Which means a few more minutes hardly matter" Amélie purred as she reached past Tracer's arms and turned the heat of the stove down "I tell you what, you let me have _my_ breakfast, and afterwards we have something to _eat,_ before you get _your_ breakfast. Sound good, _qui?_ "

"Amélieeeeee-" Lena shrieked as she felt Widow's other had suddenly dive into her panties from behind, her wonderfully cold fingers suddenly brushing over Lena's most private parts.

"Oh, _chérie._ I didn't know you were _this_ excited. You are soaking wet" Widowmaker's voice was a sultry murmur against Lena's ears as she melted away.

"What did you expect? You are _fondling_ me!" Lena replied in a moan, not even trying to deny her excitement at this point. It would have been a lie anyway. She twitched forward as Widow's hand brushed over that particular bud on Lena's body. Tracer would have almost face-planted into the hot frying pan in front of her had Amélie not held her back.

"Careful" she hummed before she turned Tracer away from the small kitchen and toward an old and unstable table. "Lean on that" Widow ordered, and Lena complied. She felt terribly naked and kind of vulnerable in such a position, knowing that Amélie was watching her closely. Which Widowmaker did, and she liked what she saw a lot. For a moment she just relished in the sight of Tracer pushing out her ass for Widow like this, waiting patiently to be touched, before the French assassin stepped forward again, pulling Tracer's knickers off in one swift motion. She didn't hesitate as she plunged two of her fingers deeply inside of her British lover.

"You are beautiful, Lena" Widow hummed into Tracer's ear, as she was leaning over the Brit while she was taking special, private care of her.

Lena cried in bliss.

-/-

It was hardly surprising that Lena and Amélie diverted from the original plan quite a bit. They had their _breakfast,_ as Widow put it so nicely, in bed twice before they went and ate the meanwhile completely dry and only lukewarm meal Tracer had prepared.

After that, and who would have guessed, they ended up in bed another time for the next round. Somehow they couldn't keep their hands off each other, and seeing how their time together was very precious, that was hardly surprising.

They lost track of time long ago, just as much as they didn't really know how many rounds of their bed-game they had already played. Not that it was important, because it really wasn't. Yet, at some point, it was probably late afternoon, both Widow and Tracer were simply exhausted. Thus, they proceeded with the most basic and easiest way to show affection they knew: cuddling. Lena had the strange fear that Amélie wouldn't be one for cuddling and seeing how her Amélie had a very prominent hit and run personality, that concern wasn't really uncalled for either. But to Lena's positive surprise, Amélie enjoyed staying nestled in Tracer's warm embrace, inhaling her strong scent and feeling each, however slight, movement of her toned muscles through her fit body.

Tracer was leaning into the wall with her accelerator, while Widow was cuddling upon her lover's shoulder, her long blue legs across Tracer's lap, looking up at Lena from time to time. She felt strangely _whole._ Exhausted, yes, but definitely complete. Being here with that addictive drug that Tracer simply was felt amaizing; it felt _right._ Widowmaker couldn't care less at the moment what her superiors at Talon would think, say, or do if they saw her like this. She didn't want to think about it. Wrong things could not possibly feel this good, could they?

Yet, Talon was a good cue.

For the first time in forever something _important_ had changed in Widowmaker's life. Something she had chosen, actively decided to want and do, and not something which was imposed on her. Tracer naturally brought change with her, and Amélie was wondering how her life was supposed to look from now on. She knew that it would be difficult to pull this -whatever it was she and Lena shared- off without anyone noticing, but she was also more than aware that it was the only viable way to go about this. As much as the idea of hiding their relationship felt shameful and wrong, it was their only chance.

The fact that they were supposed to be enemies didn't help one bit. Lena couldn't come with her because of the horrible things Talon would definitely do to her, and the other way round didn't really work either. Overwatch would never trust Widowmaker enough to not lock her up in some dark hole. Or would they? Even if that was the case, Widow would have accepted that fate if it meant being with Tracer and making her happy. But that was hardly going to happen if she just went with Lena. No matter if Overwatch locked Amélie up or not, Talon would never just let such a betrayal of their best agent slide.

Amélie uncomfortably rubbed over a part of her neck. _If only that thing in there wouldn't exist._ But it did. And she knew Talon would come after her, they would easily locate her, and either try to get her back or try to eliminate her; most likely the latter.

Widowmaker knew that this adorable idiot named Lena Oxton would be the first one to jump into Talon's way to stop them from getting to Amélie. She would also be the first one to get herself killed. Or worse.

No. For Lena's sake it was better to keep their... relationship a secret. For the time being, secret meetings would be all they could share.

For Tracer's sake.

Deep inside, Widowmaker started to despise Talon and what they did to her. For years she had absolutely no problem with it. She was Widowmaker, the walking weapon, deadly and efficient. Her sole reason to live was Talon's will and their wish was her command. It was that easy.

That definitely changed on a whim.

Ever since Lena showed her how another world could look like, how a normal life could taste, Amélie started to seriously reconsider her loyalty toward Talon. They weren't like Lena was. No one at Talon ever treated her kindly or with so much love and dedication like Lena always did. They controlled people with fear. They _made_ them do what they wanted and what was best for _them._

But Amélie wasn't scared anymore. At least she told herself that she wasn't.

She just needed to look at Tracer for a moment, take that warm, honest smile in, and her world could have drowned in blazing storms of raging fire. She would have felt alright. She was done with doing things for people who were only using and abusing her like they saw fit. There was someone else far more deserving of that kind of devotion and loyalty. Widowmaker would never allow anyone to harm the person who carried that smile. Never.

She would _endure_ Talon for as long as she had to if that meant Tracer's safety. It would without a doubt be difficult for Widow. Luckily, she had a rather well-trained poker face, honed to perfection over the years she was locked up with their tormentors. Talon would never know. She just had to figure out a way to get past those memory-resets. Relying on the theory that Tracer could bring her memories back was not really an option. Who knew what Widow would do the next time she got reset and Tracer tried to help her? Then again, maybe Reaper could be of service there. He seemed to want something. Maybe Widow could get herself a deal.

"You alright, Blueberry?" Lena asked happily, letting her hand run through Amélie's super soft, silken hair. It was an amazing trait of her lover, that long wonderful hair which she usually tied in that trademark ponytail of hers. Now it was falling loosely over her pale blue shoulders and was slightly messy from their recent activities while Tracer carefully wrapped the soft purple silk around her delicate fingers. "You are staring right through me" she giggled cutely while Widow furrowed a brow.

"Blueberry?" she asked, not at all convinced of what apparently was her new nickname.

"Yes. Blueberry" Lena smiled happily, proud of the new pet name she thought of for Amélie. "Because you are blue" she said before she leaned closer to Widow's ear and whispered "and taste _really_ sweet"

"You are annoying" Widow huffed with a deep purple blush burning on her cheeks.

Lena just laughed as she looked at her gorgeous lover. It didn't take her long to figure out that Widow always tried to insult her when she was really embarrassed or otherwise cornered in a way that threatened her bossy attitude to fall apart. It was actually rather cute.

"Hush, you love it!" Lena shot back.

"If you ever call me that in front of someone else, I am going to-" Widowmaker started, but quickly stopped as she noticed that Lena's loving smile froze.

The idea of calling Widow by her new pet name in front of someone else ignited a thought in Tracer's head, one she hadn't really considered up until now, but one which was of crucial importance for the two of them. There was a moment of heavy silence spreading between them, before Tracer spoke up again.

"What are we now anyway? I never really thought about that. I mean, we are supposed to fight each other, or whatever, but surely we shouldn't..."

"Fuck?" Widow provided bluntly. There was no reason to beat around the bush; it was what they had been doing those last couple of hours.

"Yes." Lena sighed almost sadly. Apparently she had very similar thoughts to those Widow had a couple moments prior. "We have to hide it, don't we? I don't suppose you'd just come with me, would you?" Tracer asked with a faint hint of hope in her voice, yet the look Widowmaker gave her said it all. Lena gulped a sour lump in her throat. Why was the world always so unfair? Why couldn't things be easy at least for once? That was hardly asking too much, wasn't it? "We could run away. Screw Overwatch and everyone else. We pack our bags now and go. Just you and me. We just leave! Right now and never come back. Take the next flight to whereverland and be gone. They will never-"

Lena was shut up by Amélie's lips gently pressing to hers. Both of the two quickly realized this was the most effective and also most enjoyable method of stopping the other one from talking. "You know as well as I do that that would never work. You could never abandon your friends. Your Swiss doctor would go crazy with worry, wouldn't she?"

"...Maybe" Tracer admitted reluctantly. She hadn't really thought about that. Still, if it meant a life with Amélie cutting the ties to Angela would maybe... no, that would be a really mean thing to do. Tracer wasn't like that.

"See? And I can't go because Talon would come for me. As long as they know I am alive I am bound to them." Widow went quiet for a long, heavy moment, in which she considered telling Tracer about the tracking device in her neck. But Amélie didn't want to unnecessarily worry Tracer, so she kept her mouth shut about this. The silence spread between them for a while longer, Widow's eyes sparkling and peering deeply into the hazel brown of Tracer. It was such an infinite ocean of calm and tranquility. Widow could lose herself in those dark colors.

"Just fake your death or something" Tracer tried with a half-hearted laugh, which Widow returned.

"It's not like you could just fake that so easily" she said, actually considering the idea for a moment. Still, doing something like this needed either a perfect opportunity or some serious planning. And there was no perfect opportunity at hand right now and they also lacked the time for serious planning. Soon someone of them would get called back.

"Yeah, I know that. But I..." Tracer fell silent, holding Widow a little closer to her, hoping it would tell her what she wanted to say but couldn't find the words for. Amélie reached up to Lena's face and cupped her cheek with her hand, peering deeply into her eyes.

"You are the only person I really trust, Lena. You make me feel alive, warm, welcome and wanted all at once, and I want to be with you every moment of my life. But I can't. As much as I want to, I _can't_. I can't because of the things _they_ would do to you once they found out. And they would find out. I am yours forever, but we have to keep it a secret; it's the only way this could ever work. No one can ever learn the truth about us. I don't think that anyone would understand."

"I know" Lena replied feebly. "It's just... I wish it was different"

"So do I, _chérie_ " Amélie nodded, pulling Tracer a little closer to herself. "And in the meantime, we should make the most of the time we have together, _est-ce pas_?"

"I like your thinking" Lena hummed, trying to ignore the bad feeling she had in her guts. She didn't like the idea of Widow going back to those Talon lunatics one bit. She couldn't stand the mere thought of her even doing as much as thinking about Talon ever again. Those bastards. What they did to Amélie, to _her_ Amélile... one day they'd have to pay. Yet, the rational half of Tracer had to admit that Widowmaker was probably perfectly right. It would only work when they kept it a secret. At least for the time being until Talon was brought to its knees. Which it eventually would be. And until then they would have to make do with what little time they were given.

Which was abruptly cut short by the loud, annoying, and very much unwelcome ringing of a cellphone.

Tracer groaned, recognizing her ringtone. _'Why now? Can't you wait with whatever it is. Seriously.'_ She tried to roll over Widow to grab her phone, but her lover was faster. She took the device in her hands and looked at the display.

"Who is Athena?" Amélie inquired cocking an eyebrow in a jesting way "I see. I have to be careful with you, otherwise someone is stealing you away from me. You keep more girls warm, just in case, is that right? Ts ts, Lena; such a bad girl. Such a _player_ " Widow teased, keeping the ringing phone barely out of Tracer's reach, utilizing her longer arms.

Lena groaned in frustration. "Gimme!" she demanded while laughing "C'mon, Blueberry!"

"Now why would I do that, _cherie?_ " Widow teased.

"Athena is an AI! Come on; give me the phone!"

"An AI? Is that so? You don't really make a difference do you? Oh, you are such a naughty girl, Lena."

Tracer rolled her eyes again, her sides hurting from laughing, but she still needed to get the phone. So, lacking better ideas, she quickly tickled Widow on her sides, which made her cringe. Lena quickly snatched the mobile out of Amélie's hands and accepted the call.

She had to force her voice steady but probably still sounded like she had been laughing a whole lot when she spoke.

"Oxton."

" _Chérie_ , don't you dare talk to other girls, or AIs or anyone when you are in bed with me!" Widow whispered into Lena's other ear, nibbling on her two pierce rings while her hand slid down Lena's body. "You are _mine_ "

A shudder ran through Tracer's body, making it difficult to concentrate on whatever Athena was saying.

"Stop it!" Lena whispered, holding the phone away slightly, before turning back to it. "Sorry, Athena. What is it?"

Widowmaker noticed that her lover's relaxed body went stiff as a plank of wood in the blink of a moment. Her smile froze, and her buoyant eyes glazed over, her expression hardening.

Something bad had happened. Amélie could tell immediately and knew that their wonderful time together had come to an abrupt end. She simply _knew_ that Tracer would have to storm off to wherever and get someone out of trouble. It was the same expression Tracer wore on the day she had picked a bleeding and almost dead Amélie up in that dirty alley in London which gave Tracer's intention away to Widow.

The room fell into complete silence and Widow could barely pick up some things the AI's monotonous voice on the other end of the line said. The little bits and pieces only confirmed her theory.

_"Officially MIA [...] high alert. There was an incident in Zürich.[...] waiting for more information [...] Morrison enabled [...] ghost-tracker protocol.[...] dispatched a shuttle[...] Return to headquarters ASAP. Operation commences [...] martial law [...] Good luck."_

"Understood. Thank you, Athena." Lena replied numbly, putting the phone down. She stared straight ahead for a moment before she shook her head as if she wanted to get rid of something.

"I am sorry, luv" Lena started, her voice bitter.

"You have to leave, don't you?" Widowmaker stated coolly, trying to hide her disappointment. It wasn't Lena's fault. Sooner or later their time together would have ended anyway. One of the two would have been called back to duty at some point. She just hoped they would have a little bit more of these precious moments in peace together.

"Yes." Tracer nodded sadly, her voice filled with concern and worry as she jumped out of bed and started to collect her stuff. "It's Angela. She got abducted and her bodyguard shot. We are starting a search and rescue operation soon. I have to get back to HQ and help. They need me to activate her tracker. Only I can do that. It's... complicated. I need to go and find her." Lena was almost stammering with trembling voice, as she tried to find her belongings. She couldn't really concentrate, so finding her skin tight orange pants and slipping into them was more a lucky hit than anything else. Which was proven when Lena tried to locate her brown RAF bomber jacket. Where did that damn thing go? It couldn't be far, dammit.

Widowmaker smiled supportively while she also got out of bed. Lena was a passionate woman. The same drive that made her want to be there for Amélie also made her want to be there for her friends. Widow never had friends, so she didn't know how that felt. But she knew what she'd do if someone dared to abduct Lena. The way she imagined things, a best friend was almost like a lover, but one you didn't get intimate with. Maybe a bit like a sibling, not that Amélie would have know how that felt either, as far as she remembered she was an only child. Widow might have been a _tiny_ bit jealous of Angela, simply because Mercy got to spend time with Lena whenever she felt like it, but Tracer didn't have to know that.

Be that as it may, Amélie understood that Tracer had to leave. She spotted the jacket Lena was searching so desperately for, hanging over a chair. So she walked over to it and picked it up to give to Tracer.

Their hands touched for a moment when she passed her lover the heavy bomber jacket and Lena stopped dead in her tracks. She looked deeply into Widow's eyes, the woman who was standing naked right in front of her.

"Was it...?" _Talon_

"We don't know yet. They are still gathering information, it's total chaos. Could be. You don't worry about that. Don't get yourself into unnecessary trouble, you hear me, luv?"

"Shut up. I know what I'm doing." Widow tried to hide her insecurities behind a supportive smile, noticing that Tracer's hands were shaking badly. Figuring her own concerns could wait, she reached out for her girlfriends hands and cupped them in her own.

"You will find her, _cherie_. I know you will and she will be fine, _qui?_ " Amélie reassured, squeezing Tracer's hands for a moment "Just use that smart head of yours and be careful, ok? Numbani is still under martial law and... I want to see you again."

Tracer took a deep breath, calming her nerves, as she smiled sadly at Widow, looking up at the taller woman before pulling her close once again. Amélie's proximity worked wonders for Tracer's anxious nerves. Inhaling her sweet scent with a hunch of lavender slowed her world down into calmness.

"You will see me again. Sooner than you think. I promise." She said, turning to leave.

Widowmaker stopped Tracer one final time, before she could go, and kissed her once more before she released the bubbly Brit.

"Wait!" Amélie called out after a short moment, noticing there was a piece of familiar grey cotton lying on the nightstand next to the bed "Your T-shirt!" Widowmaker grabbed the cloth and turned to follow Tracer

Lena just giggled cutely."You hold on to that for me, so you don't forget me again"

After a cheeky wink the door closed behind Tracer, and Widow was left alone in the apartment.

She instantly missed her company, her warmth, her stupid laugh, and her annoying attitude.

She immediately regretted not going with her; however stupid that may have been.

She started to feel cold again; dead inside and without a legit reason to live anymore.

She needed Tracer, like a junkie needed his drugs.

Lena Oxton was her drug. Her addiction.

Amélie brought the shirt in her hands to her nose and inhaled Lena's strong scent of perfume and British pub. Her aching heart calmed down for as long as the intoxicating scent lingered in her nostrils.

Now Widow would have to go without that addiction for a while. It was time to pack up anyway. Better head back before Amélie got stupid ideas.

-/-

**Vienna, public speech of Thiery Savant during his campaign.**

Accompanied by the roaring applause of the masses who had listened to Savant's political speech at the Prater*, the candidate for the position of UN general secretary left the stage and quickly vanished inside a black luxury sedan with windows tinted black which immediately drove off at a fast pace.

It had been a successful day. A _very_ successful one. The French businessman was certain that he'd be able to win the elections. Fear was a good weapon. It was a perfect tool. Scared people would do anything if you promised them safety.

Creating the chaos he was promising to rid the world of was ingenious. He had been plotting this for so long. Many, many years of hardship and dedication. It all started to pay off.

Inside the silent car, Savant buried his head in his hands, rubbing his temples in a counter clockwise manner. His skin was burning and his eyes felt like they were on fire.

Two small, soft hands reached out for him and turned his face to look at the woman in a French maid uniform sitting next to him.

"Master, don't you think you are pushing your luck too hard?" she asked, her voice full of concern as she checked the corners of his jaw line "You are bleeding again" The maid stated and reached for a dark black box. The content was multiple rolls of bandage, which she started to spread out meticulously, before picking one and starting to bind up Savant's face with skilled yet careful movements like she had done this a thousand times before.

Which she had.

"Gerda, People have to vote for me. You should be well aware that this is a crucial part of the plan by now. I can't go and buy voters. So, if I want them to vote for me, I have to win them for me. We have been over this before." Savant snorted aggressively while he let his maid wrap his face with bandage. He had been wearing it for the better part of a year now.

"But it is painful?" his naive maid asked full of concern. She was young and so easy to manipulate. It didn't take his experts long to turn her into an absolutely loyal servant; one who would jump out of a window if he just indicated that would be to his liking.

"The genetic makeup was never meant to be pleasant" he replied, rolling his dark, glazed eyes. Unfortunately his little maid, who he had personally named Gerda, because her original name was quite boring, was overly concerned for his wellbeing. Sometimes that trait of her was a bit annoying. "It was meant to be effective"

"I understand that, Master" Gerda replied, her voice full of devotion.

"But I suppose you are right that it is time this stops to hurt. It's starting to unnerve me. I can't concentrate with my face constantly burning. And I _hate_ not being able to concentrate" Savant grunted. "When can I expect results from the latest project?"

"Montgomery reported that TTS 627 is proving more stubborn than initially expected. He might take a little longer, Master." the maid replied instantly, which seemed to be amusing to Savant as he chuckled deeply

"Ziegler, Ziegler, Ziegler. You were always such an annoying piece of work. Didn't suppose she'd make it easy for us."

"No, Master" Gerda replied. "I took care of your face" she informed him.

"Good. I think it is time to move to the next stage of our little plan. Give me the other reports" Savant demanded as his maid and assistant quickly shuffled the black first aid kit away to hand some dossiers to her boss. As she did so, the wrist of her left arm peeked out under her sleeve. It revealed a barcode tattooed onto her skin with some letters and numbers underneath.

_TTS 514_

-/-

* * *

*Prater: The Prater is a large public park in Vienna's 2nd district (Leopoldstadt). The Wurstelprater amusement park, often simply called "Prater", lies in one corner of the Wiener Prater and includes the Wiener Riesenrad Ferris wheel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dam dam daaam
> 
>  
> 
> If you want to support the story, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction


	16. Search and Rescue

**Watchpoint: Gibraltar, Overwatch headquarters, tactical command center, ten hours later**

Morrison looked through the glass wall of his small office inside the tactical command center of Overwatch. He looked into a large dark room with lots of huge monitors and dozens of employees working different stations. It bore some resemblance to mission control in Houston. However from this room no missions to space were coordinated, but instead, the global activities of Overwatch. Back in the day, each Watchpoint had one of these rooms commanding whole armies of land, air, and sea forces for their respective grid squares. They were generally commanded from the old headquarters in Zürich, the one which was destroyed by Reyes and his attack on Overwatch.

It was a necessary sacrifice.

Now the general command of what little remained of Overwatch was stationed at Gibraltar.

Luckily his small office inside the command center was soundproof, so Morrison could talk freely and not worry about someone eavesdropping... which would have been a disaster.

"That was not planned" he hissed "You know I can't let that slide. We _need_ her."

The voice on the other side of the phone was easily recognizable simply because it was so unnaturally deep "I know, and I am working on it. All I can give you for now is a destination where the ship she is kept on is headed."

"Better than nothing." Morrison grumbled.

"We are supposed to meet up for refueling in the Arctic sea north of Russia near a port city called Diskon. There is a tanker waiting there for us."

"Hang on. Us? Are you on board?" Morrison asked, furrowing a brow as he was running up and down in front of his desk, nervously playing with a randomly victimized pen.

"I am, but don't get your hopes up. There is nothing I can do at the moment without compromising the mission. You have to come and get her if you want her back. However, there is one thing I could do for all of you should worst comes to worst, and the rescue mission fails."

"Don't say it" Morrison mumbled, squeezing the poor pen in his hand tightly. Reaper did it anyway.

"I'll kill her before she spills anything. Or worse. Currently, she is holding her own, but I have no idea how long she will be able to keep it up. Have to give it to her though, little kitty has claws."

"At least _some_ good news for now. We'll hurry up. Thanks for the intel."

"One hand washes the other" Reaper replied before the line went dead. Morrison slammed his phone back into the station on his desk before he stormed out of his office. The door opened with a silent sizzling, and the loud, borderline chaotic atmosphere of the command center spilled into his private room.

People were talking and running around, phones were ringing everywhere, keyboards were hectically hammered on, and the sound of good old paper being roughly handed around lingered heavily in the air. It was utter chaos. Out of the mess of stressed out agents and employees a tall male in a dark blue uniform, just like anyone else inside the control room, walked toward Morrison at a fast pace.

"Sir, your orders?" he asked, and apparently this was enough to quiet the room down drastically. Everyone stopped whatever they were doing and turned to look at Morrison, waiting for instructions. They had been working tirelessly to acquire every last bit of information concerning the attack in Zürich, but they were at a point where new information was harder and harder to procure and less and less important.

The soldier cleared his throat "Alright. Until Tracer arrives and activates the tracking system for us, there is not a lot we actually _can_ do. But I at least managed to get a destination from one of my whistleblowers. While I don't know where Dr. Ziegler is being held captive, I know that the ship she is on is currently en route toward Diskon, Russia for refueling purposes." Morrison paused "I want you to search for that tanker. Group A, your task is to bring each and every satellite we have in that cluster in position and search every square inch of sea around Diskon until you find the tanker we are looking for!" Morrison ordered, and a small group of six people nodded a quick "Yes, Sir!" before they went to work on their task. Soldier 76 continued. "Group B, I want you to read through all the reports on Diskon, that is, everything we have about that city. Prepare a tactical briefing file with possible routes, hideouts, and special points of interest; I want to feel like it is my own god damn home town after I read your report! Got that?"

"Yes, Sir!"

"Group C, prepare possible starting points for both a sea based and an air based rescue operation as well as returning positions should the starting points become compromised. I want updates every five minutes, understood?"

"Yes, Sir!"

"And get me someone who is fluent in Russian. They will come along, whoever it is you find."

"Sir?" Another solider stepped up to Morrison, a woman with the standard female issue of Overwatch uniforms. She chose to wear a skirt instead of pants. "I just received word that Agent Oxton's shuttle is making its final approach. Her shuttle passed the inner defense ring one minute ago and Athena cleared her for landing in bay seven. The shuttle should touchdown in approximately seven minutes."

"Thank you" Morrison nodded. "About time. Send someone to pick her up."

"Sir!" The woman nodded and was gone again. Morrison rubbed over his temples. Oxton really couldn't have taken any longer.

It wasn't her fault. It took some time to get out of Numbani with all the street blockades, checkpoints, and military patrols she had to somehow get past unnoticed. The shuttle was waiting for her well outside the city so no one would detect it, which meant extra walking distance. Tracer was fast, but even she couldn't teleport. Getting back to Gibraltar, of course, took some time as well.

At least they were able to procure enough information about what happened in Zürich and, even more importantly, who was responsible for it. Naturally it just _had_ to be Talon, at least that was what they deducted from the files they were given by a contact in the Swiss police about two hours ago. That was why Morrison had contacted Reyes and, luckily, got confirmation that Dr. Ziegler was indeed abducted by Talon. Not that this would have been good news. But it was news.

It meant Angela was most likely still alive; something that wasn't such a given thing for everyone Jack had sent to Zürich. He had dispatched a team to retrieve Fareeha, or what was left of her. Bringing the Egyptian back to the medical facility of Overwatch was luckily only a matter of signing enough papers... which had nothing to do with what they would have to pull off in order to bring Dr. Ziegler back.

But first they had to find her. Somewhere on a Talon controlled ship God knows where. But at least they would soon be able to track her. A part of him always found it stupid that you needed two people that.

Every Overwatch agent had a chip implanted into their body, which allowed their position to be determined within a 25 meter radius. It was meant for situations exactly like this one, in case an agent was abducted or otherwise missing. A great invention, in theory.

But Winston, who of course invented this system, thought it might be too easy to abuse. He feared that someone could use his creation to control where people went, even if they weren't in any danger. So he decided the system would always be shut off and could only be enabled in case of an emergency; like the one now, with Mercy abducted by Talon. But in his infinite wisdom, Winston apparently thought that was not enough precaution, and installed a two-step verification. Now, much like starting a ballistic missile, you needed two people to activate the system. One was the Overwatch commander, namely Morrison, and the other person was to be decided by the implant-bearer. Naturally, Mercy had chosen her best friend Tracer as the person who'd be able to activate her localization chip and vice versa.

And since the system could only be enabled from one point and not remotely via phone or voice command, they had to wait for Tracer. Luckily she was here now.

Why did Winston's inventions always have to be such a pain in the butt?

-/-

Tracer jumped out of the shuttle even before it had fully touched the ground. The strong winds from its engines were pulling painfully on her short hair, but Lena paid no attention to it. She rushed straight for the entrance into the Watchpoint.

A few meters from the door leading inside was someone waiting for her. Tracer didn't recognize the girl at first, but when she got closer the pink war paint was a dead giveaway. Her petite, slender body was squeezed into her trademark pink and white bodysuit which left almost as little to the imagination as Widowmaker's. At least it wasn't low cut or backless, but an actual full bodysuit.

DVa, or Hana Song, her real name, had occupied the dorm room next to Tracer's, so they had gotten to know each other a little bit in the few days Tracer stayed at the Watchpoint before leaving for Numbani. The Asian ex-pro-gamer was actually rather nice, and Lena got the feeling that Hana kind of looked up to her as some kind of role model. It was almost a little bit embarrassing at times that DVa glorified Tracer so much. She even started calling her 'Unni', which Tracer had to actually look up. Apparently it was the Korean term for the older sister of a female, but it could also be applied to older women girls respected or admired.

A part of Tracer was flattered, yet the majority of her felt undeserving. Especially recently now that she was involved with the enemy. She suspected Hana might not take it too well if she learned to whom Tracer's heart belonged.

"Hana!" Lena called over the loud wind and deafening burble of the still running shuttle-engines. "What are you doing here, luv?"

"Morrison said I should walk you to the command center. Come with me!" DVa yelled back, shielding her eyes from the dust whirled up by the shuttle.

"I know where to go. What is he thinking?" Tracer shouted, before the two finally made it past the automated steel door. Suddenly the rough storm outside disappeared and they were surrounded by almost total silence.

"I don't know, Unni. Just following orders." Hana shrugged. "How was Numbani?" she wanted to know.

Tracer almost replied with something like _perfect_ or _wonderful_ but she remembered in the last second "Didn't go so well. Numbani's major is dead. Couldn't stop it"

"I am sorry, Unni" Hana said, looking up to Tracer. Heavens, she adored that woman. Tracer was everything Dva wanted to be. Strong and outgoing, determined, yet still so heartfelt with everyone. Hana wasn't like that. She always had to struggle against insecurity issues. Issues she was trying to hide behind a shield of unhealthy arrogance, hoping that no one would notice. Tracer wasn't like that at all, Hana could tell. She could tell, when Tracer was still a two dimensional depiction on a poster in her room among all the other glorious heroes of Overwatch and she could tell now, that she finally met her in person.

But no matter how much DVa adored and idolized Tracer, she couldn't help and notice that the Brit was really exhausted, at least judging by the large dark circles around her tired eyes, and... injured. Not only was there a freshly healed, red scar on her lower lip, there also was a large bruise on her neck and... did someone bite her ear? Because clearly there were teeth-imprints.

"Not your fault, Hana" Tracer laughed sadly, trying to sound positive "Let's just see that we get Angela back. Do you know anything new about Fareeha?"

"I don't; sorry. They are working on bringing her back to the Watchpoint" Hana said, rubbing her palms together nervously. She didn't like these times. Everyone was tense and bitter. Which was only natural, because the person everyone at Gibraltar thought of as some kind of replacement mother was gone, abducted by the worst organization of them all. "Unni, are you alright?"

"Mh? I'm ok. Just stressed out, you know? I _will_ get Angela back, no matter what. There's no way I'll leave her in the hands of those _lunatics_ " Tracer hissed angrily. She had way more reason to be pissed off than anyone else simply because Lena had seen how Talon treated their prisoners and knew what it did to their minds and bodies. There was not a second to waste. She had spent the entire flight back from Numbani planning how rescue missions for different scenarios could look like and who she'd best take with her. Lena prepared for all eventualities... at least all those she could foresee.

"I meant physically. You are injured. The bruises" Hana said shyly. Lena actually needed a moment longer than she would have liked until DVa added: "Someone bit you..."

Then Tracer knew, without a doubt, what the Korean gamer meant. Lena had to hide a faint blush starting to creep up on her cheeks as the memories of where the bruises came from, and who inflicted them on her, rushed back to Tracer. Now was not the time for thinking about that.

"Oh, that!" Lena laughed it off, quickly coming up with an excuse that would suffice for Hana to shut up. "No, no! That's no injury. You see, I had to stay a couple of nights in Numbani but because of the martial law, I couldn't exactly go to a Hotel, and since I didn't want to sleep on the streets, I kind of needed another option..."

"Ohh!" Hana laughed. She had read about that in books. "You seduced a fine gentleman and spent the time with him, didn't you? That is so cool!" Hana said, and it sounded like she had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

Which she didn't.

Her world had always been the computer and her games. She rarely got outside, and when she did, she found all the people coming to see and talk to her scarier than anything else. She preferred to have a screen in between two people, or some healthy distance in the form of a stage. At least she did until she joined the MEKKA unit. Then her life was the mech. She was basically glued to it. Again, not much social interaction. A part of Hana had been longing for that kind of relationship with a guy, but there was never time. Other things always were more important.

Tracer giggled, but didn't really have the heart to tell Hana the truth. She was so young and innocent in a way and Lena thought she'd ruin a world if she told her about Lena's real preferences. She wouldn't touch a guy with pincers if she had to. "Something like that, yeah" Lena replied instead.

"I wish I was more like you, Unni" Hana said plainly as they arrived in front of the door leading into the command center. Tracer just shook her head, knowing that being more like her was something you did _not_ want. It got you into more trouble than you'd expect.

"Trust me, luv. You really don't." she said with a supportive smile. "I'll see you around, Hana. Thanks for walking me!"

"Of course. Good luck with the search. I hope Dr. Ziegler comes back soon. She is always very nice."

"She is" Tracer nodded, pressing her hand to a fingerprint scanner. The door beeped and slid open with a synthetic voice announcing her entry. Lena walked inside and looked over her shoulder one last time to see Hana waving before she walked off.

"Oxton, finally. Where have you been hanging around again?" Soldier 76 said, turning away from a large monitor. A ship of substantial size was shown from the top while it floated on the surface of the dark blue ocean, seemingly unmoved. An overlay described the ship as a tanker being run by a company called 'Clockwork International' under the name 'Athos'.

"Morrison" Tracer nodded, choosing not to reply to anything else. "Ghost-tracker protocol has been activated Athena told me?"

"Yes. We are just waiting for your password and fingerprint." Morrison said, gesturing toward another terminal.

"What's that ship?" Lena wanted to know, nodding at the monitor. Oxton was on edge, crazy with worry about the two people she cared the most about. Of course she was mostly worried for Mercy, who had been abducted into the claws of a terror-organization. Tracer was informed during her flight that Talon as the kidnappers were confirmed. She almost cursed out loud when Athena told her. If they had informed her a few hours earlier, she might have been able to get Amélie to help. But then again, she was in enough danger as it was. Apart from that, she didn't even know how to contact her. Tracer had left in such a hurry she had completely forgotten to give Widow her number or anything else. She wanted to bite herself... a _fter_ Lena had rescued her best friend of course. That was her top priority for now.

She didn't even want to know what Talon was doing to Angela. Very unwelcome memories of the video showing Amélie being tortured rushed into her mind, and Tracer felt like hurling her guts out. Her skin was tingling unpleasantly, and Lena felt the sharp, stinging rush of adrenaline in her veins like barbed wire. She would not allow anything to happen to Angela. It was horrible enough that no one was there to stop this from being done to her now lover. But not again; not if Tracer could help it.

"Most likely the destination they are taking Angela to. We are not sure. If it is, we might have a chance, depending on how far Dr. Ziegler is still away."

While Morrison explained things, Tracer pressed her hand to another scanner, which turned green before she typed her silly password into the console. She had no idea why she chose that phrase back in the day.

 _"Dr. Ziegler's confidant has entered her password correctly and authorized the Ghost-tracker protocol. Enabling tracking device... Please wait... Please wait... Please wait... Signal detected. Narrowing down the exact location"_ Athenas soft, yet clearly artificial voice announced.

"Give me the location on the big screen!" Morrison ordered. A moment later the ship, which was shown prior, was gone, replaced by a map and a blinking red point somewhere in the North sea.

"Is the target moving?" Lena asked.

"Yes, Ma'am" a voice from somewhere in the room answered almost immediately "Target in motion."

"Calculate the time it takes from the current location to the tanker we spotted near Diskon" Morrison ordered. That took a little bit longer than the answer before.

"Sir, ensuing from the assumption that they won't change their current speed and considering the optimal possible route at this time of the year and with the current meteorological situation, the fastest time they should reach the _Athos_ is in 7 hours and 48 Minutes. Sir."

"Good" Morrison nodded, checking his watch. Almost eight hours. More than enough time to fly to Diskon, set up a provisory base of operation, wait for the ship with Mercy on board, and then strike when they had no way of running away because of the refueling. "Time is on our side, it seems. I will assemble a team." he announced and turned to leave. He was stopped by Tracer reaching out and grabbing his sleeve.

Morrison looked over his shoulder and knew exactly what would come. He just needed to look at the angry, hurt expression on Tracer's face to know that he could forget about leading that operation.

"No." Lena stated firmly, fearing that _maybe_ Morrison would run into Widow and ruin everything. Also, she wanted to be the one coming to Angela's help. She wanted to be there for her when they got her out of the hell she had to be in. Lena knew Angela like no one else and she was sure that her best friend would need some serious comforting once she was free again. Morrison was hardly the person for that. "You won't. I will lead the team. Angela is my _best_ friend. I will go and get her."

"Your emotional involvement is-"

"None of your business, luv. Angela was my friend for longer than I care to admit; the last thing I will do is sit around while you go and save her. I know her better than anyone of you, and she will need me. I go. Period." Tracer fixed Morrison with one of her very rare death glares which made it unquestionably clear that this discussion was over. There was no point in arguing any further; Tracer would never stand down.

"Fine. You go" Morrison grumbled, hoping Tracer would not run into Reaper and ruin everything. "Assemble a team." He told her. Maybe it wasn't half bad that Tracer insisted on going. That would mean he had time to take care of something, or more accurately, _someone_ else.

"I want McCree and Genji" Tracer replied instantly, the planning she did during the flight paying off. There was not a second to waste. This seemed an awful lot like a sneak in, sneak out kind of operation in rather close quarters. Something Reinhardt in his bulky crusader armor was rather... unfavorable for.

The door into the command center opened again, and a mountain of a woman with bright pink hair walked into the room. She wore a dark muscle shirt and had a tattoo on her shoulder spreading over her upper arm reading the number '512'. Her face was grim and serious. Tracer had little doubt that this woman... or mountain could have easily picked her up and tied a knot into her, without even struggling. There was just so much muscle everywhere. Almost as extreme as Reinhardt.

"Reporting for duty, Sir" Zarya said with a heavy Russian accent, walking up to Tracer and Soldier. "Ma'am" Zarya quickly but accurately acknowledged Tracer, who wanted to speak up to tell her to drop the _Ma'am,_ but the Russian weightlifter had already turned back to Morrison. "You requested my presence."

"I did" Morrison stated, sounding as if he had forgotten about it. He then remembered that he told someone to bring him anyone speaking Russian... and Zarya was Russian. Hence her presence. There was too much on his plate today, and his work was nowhere near done for the day. He still had to take care of something else, outside of this whole Mercy abducted by Talon disaster.

"Not to be nosy, Sir, but why is there a tactical map of my hometown on the screen?" Zarya wanted to know, looking a tiny bit suspicious. At least as suspicious as her stoic face would allow to get.

Tracer's eyes lit up in excitement for a moment and Jack knew _exactly_ what would come "I will take her as well" she said to Morrison, who sighed. _Called it. You have to make everything difficult, don't you, Oxton?_

"Inform Genji and McCree we'll meet at the shuttle in thirty minutes. I need the tactical files in 20. This is no time for standing around. Hurry up, slowpokes, we got to save our doctor. Not a minute to waste" Lena announced loudly as she walked out of the command center. She tried to sound positive, which might have fooled everyone who didn't know Tracer as well as Morrison did. He had worked with her long enough to tell when she was _really_ in high spirits or when she was faking it for the sake of everyone's morale.

And Tracer had never been faking worse than right now. Mercy's abduction must have _really_ been chewing on her insides. This, Morrison completely understood. The two were basically inseparable. He had never seen a friendship like theirs before. Well, maybe one, but that was different.

Morrison was left behind shaking his head in disbelieve. This woman would one day be the death of him. If he wouldn't need her to keep a certain assassin in check he would maybe have to set her head straight one day. But, unfortunately, he _did_ need her; now more than ever.

"Seems like you have been chosen for a search and rescue operation." Soldier said to Zarya "You heard the lady. In 30 minutes at the helipad."

"Sir, do I understand correctly? We are going to rescue Doctor Ziegler? Everyone is talking about what happened to her."

"Yes. She was abducted by Talon. Oxton will inform you wholly once she briefs you all for the mission" Morrison replied, his voice clearly showing just how stressed out the man really was. Even though no one would ever suspect where large portions of that tension really came from.

"I will head to the armory then" Zarya stated with cold determination, giving Morrison a quick, but very Russian, salute before turning around to leave. The worst threat to mankind were Omnics, and Zarya hated them with burning passion. But right after them there was Talon. Sick fucks thought they could do whatever they wanted and not pay the price. Fools. The crimes they committed in Russia especially. Their _recruiting._ Zarya huffed loudly as she left the command center. _Mass abductions are no recruiting._

"Sir?" Yet another agent walked up to Morrison, handing him a data pad. Morrison sighed inwardly, taking the pad and looking over its contents. Medical files and reports from Zürich for the most part. This day was utter chaos. But that was to be expected. "We have word from our agents in Zürich concerning Fareeha Amari"

"Any updates?" Morrison asked, not wanting and also not having the time to read the report.

"As instructed, we left the press under the impression that she is dead. We prompted Helix International Security to list her as KIA. They don't know she is still alive. Amari's body is being prepared for transport. Her condition is still critical, but the doctors in Zürich say, she might survive. They, however, can't tell if she will ever wake up from the coma. The bullet did substantial damage to her... ehhh" The agent awkwardly scratched the back of his head "Sorry, Sir. I didn't understand half the words they were using. To put it simply? Pharah was extremely lucky. If it wasn't for the tube of nanoprobes they found on site, she would be dead now."

"I understand. See to it that she is brought home safely."

"Yes, Sir!"

"And prepare my shuttle for launch. I have to take care of something else"

"Right away"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to support the story, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction


	17. A Decision

**Unmarked Talon controlled freighter, North sea, roughly the same time**

Widowmaker was walking down the dark corridors inside the freighter, heading toward the mess hall. The mere thought of Tracer's delicious scrambled eggs with bacon made her stomach grumble silently already. Amélie would have had no problem eating Lena's cooking forever, but she knew that it was impossible. Widowmaker usually didn't get to eat normal food, so she had no idea that Tracer's cooking was far from great. That may have been the reason why the improvised breakfast the Brit prepared in the safe house made Widow's taste buds explode in such an awesome firework of different flavors. She would have given a lot to share a meal together with Tracer now. Obviously more because of Tracer than the need for nourishment. She would have most likely forgotten to eat with Lena around anyway.

Then again, after a couple of hours alone on board the stuffy shuttle, Amélie was famished enough to actually _want_ some of the tasteless, grey nutrient paste the special ops members received. It had been specifically tailored to cater to the needs of their altered physiology.

Just because Widow technically _could_ go without nourishment for weeks, it didn't mean it was pleasant.

At least a lot less pleasant than eating the 'food' Talon provided, which in itself was unpleasant enough. Strangely the 'oh so technologically advanced' meal was still absolutely disgusting to eat. You'd think with all that _science_ stuffed into it they could actually make it taste _not_ like wet wall paint. Apparently that was asking for too much.

Not only was the thought of the upcoming late lunch, or early dinner, somehow repulsive, even being back inside the narrow corridors of one of Talon's swimming bases made her insides turn upside down. Widow wanted to be somewhere else entirely and it was not hard to guess were. God, she had forgotten how horrible this place actually was; all cramped and full of people who had to have done something _majorly_ wrong in their lives to end up here. On the other hand, Talon paid good money. Very good, in fact. At least to those who came voluntarily. Not that Widow had ever seen as much as a cent for the shit she did here. Not being turned into a science project -at least more than she already was- or being tortured to death was her payment. Generous, wasn't it?

Speaking of torture, there was someone Widow knew rather well coming down the same corridor she was using. Talon's master torturer who had joined a couple of years after Widow did. They got along pretty well. She sometimes paid him a visit when she needed to vent some anger. He never told anyone. In return, she never told anyone what he liked to do to some of the prisoners... which strictly speaking wasn't _supposed_ to happen. Since he was a member of Talon, Widow remembered most of the things related to him even after her resets. Not every little detail, but enough to cause trouble for him. So, they came to this mutual agreement. They both profited in the end.

"Widow" he nodded, stopping and yanking the blonde woman he had been roughly pushing forward back into a tight grasp. She gasped and struggled against his touch, but it was futile. Widow took a moment to notice that the blonde wasn't wearing anything apart from a soaking wet, basically see through, dirty and torn to shreds piece of a rag. There was enough blood on the formerly white fabric to make Widow worry, yet the woman wearing it didn't have a single scar on her body. Widow knew, because the ragged piece of clothing didn't do anything clothes were supposed to do. At some point this might have been a really stunning cocktail dress, but now it was just a shameful piece of wet fabric. It must have been horribly disgraceful, being paraded around the ship like that. Widow didn't even want to know where the poor thing came from just now. If she was lucky, they just hosed her down with ice water or something.

"Montgomery" Widow replied flatly. "New friend?" she asked, nodding toward the female who was desperately grabbing at Montgomery's arms, struggling not to be suffocated.

"Yes" he laughed "TTS 627, say hello to our finest hitman" he demanded, twisting her head to face Widow.

" _Fick dich!_ " The woman hissed angrily, her blue eyes lighting up with seething rage. Widow knew that expression too well. It would soon be gone, replaced by devotion or misdirected at whoever Talon deemed necessary. She had seen that happen often enough to remember.

"A little stubborn, but she'll come around" Montgomery said with a knowing smile. They all came around in the end.

Widow just stared at the blonde. She could have sworn she had seen her before somewhere. But where? And when?

"I am sure she will" Widowmaker replied with a careless shrug, her mind occupied with figuring out where she could know that girl from.

"As they always do" Montgomery still snickered "Well, we'll be going then. There is an appointment with the drum we have to make" he said, dragging the screaming and kicking blonde away.

Amélie shrugged again and headed off to the mess hall. The entire way there she couldn't stop wondering where she had seen that woman before. It was only for a quick moment, but something seemed important. She couldn't remember. Apart from the things revolving around Tracer, her memories from before the wipe were hazy at best. Widow had to really concentrate to recall anything. But at least she had _some_ access to the past. Not none, like before.

Still, being unable to figure this out bugged her all the way from collecting her 'meal', to actually eating that disgusting grey slime, to bringing back the dishes. Her musing about where she knew that woman from was only shortly interrupted by a group of rookies staring at her like she was a walking wonder. She shot them a deadly glare, and the merry bunch of greenhorns were quickly ushered away by an older soldier, mumbling something about keeping a distance _from that freak._ Widow was sure he'd tell them the old horror story of her snapping some random Talon soldier's neck because he called her pretty. She didn't mind; Amélie just wanted to be left alone.

Which she was... most of the time. The normal personal had little to nothing to do with the special operations sector of Talon, which lacked an official name, but was called the _dark wing_ by most of its members. Highly specialized experts in their field: hackers, spies, assassins and demolition experts, all highly trustworthy professionals who carried out the most complex and demanding missions Talon wanted done. People like Widowmaker, Sombra, or Reaper. Though Reaper was a special case, since he was a freelancer, unlike Widow herself who was the polar opposite. She was basically Talon's property.

That was hardly helping her. She still had no idea where she knew blondie from, and if Widow was bothered by something, she couldn't let it go. That kind of persistence and bite was what made her a great sniper. But it also made her horribly stubborn.

Widow left the mess hall again and headed for the room Montgomery had mentioned before. The _drum._

Poor girl.

Amélie found her way through the dark and complex corridors of the ship before she slipped into a small room. Purposely it was completely dark inside. Light would have ruined the effect of the semi-see through mirror installed in the room. It allowed someone to observe what was going on in the room next to the small one Widow was currently in without anyone noticing it.

It was the perfect opportunity for Widow to stare at the strange blonde for as long as it took her to figure out where she had seen her before. She grabbed an office chair and placed her perfectly shaped behind on the surface before flicking a switch to activate the speaker system. She wanted to hear what was happening on the other side; not just see it. Propping her legs up on the desk in front of her she peered through the mirror.

Luckily, Widowmaker knew full well what they did in the _drum._

The blonde was hanging from the ceiling, her legs tied together and head facing downwards. Her arms were tied behind her back. Only the bottom half of her was visible from the belly to her legs. The rest of her body was submerged in a barrel filled with ice cold water. The woman was twitching and shaking for a while before Montgomery pressed a button on a control unit. A cable winch rolled up the cable fixed to the woman's legs as it slowly pulled the blonde out of the water again. She coughed loudly, spitting out more water than air.

"A moment longer and you'd be dead, you know that?" Montgomery asked calmly.

" _Fick dich!_ " The blonde hissed, her voice sore and croaky. Amélie didn't even want to know how many times the woman had almost been drowned. But still, Amélie had absolutely no idea where she had seen her before. All she could tell now was that she was cursing in German with an accent Widow couldn't place, and that the blonde had a pretty desirable -scratch that- gorgeous body; both of which didn't really get her anywhere.

Montgomery lowered his victim back into the barrel, the cable winch working painfully slow.

Maybe Amélie was just imagining things? Maybe her mind was just playing a trick on her and she actually had never seen the blonde in her life before? Widowmaker's memory was hardly reliable. Ever since Talon had tampered with her head she was never fully certain which memory was hers, which had been placed by Talon, and which were a mere phantasmagoria of her mind, created from nothing but remnants of memories and irrational fears of her sub-consciousness. Amélie never knew. Apart from the memory of Tracer, she trusted _nothing._

"You belong to us now. Your old self is no more." Montgomery said once he had pulled his prisoner up again. The look of defiance and hatred was so clear on her face, it would have been obvious to a blind man. The blonde's eyes were glowing purple, her features were tense and, considering her current situation, bound on her feet, hanging naked from the ceiling above a barrel filled with iced water, she managed to still look kind of graceful. It you considered a stern look of hatred graceful. Widow did; it showed that the nameless woman was still willing to fight.

"My name" The blonde growled, taking a deep breath which got Widows undivided attention "is Angela Ziegler! I am a member of Overwatch, and _you_ can go and suck a bag of dicks, _Arschloch!_ " the woman yelled at Montgomery who blinked twice. Mercy suddenly disappeared in the barrel again, her body twitching from the sudden lack of oxygen.

And Amélie face palmed hard.

Now she really wished she didn't know that woman after all.

Doctor Angela Ziegler, more commonly known as Mercy. That _did_ ring a bell in Widowmaker's head. A very loud one as well. How could Amélie forget the reason she voluntarily subjected herself to a memory cleaning? Of course now she remembered where she had seen the blonde. It was in Tracer's apartment in London, and Mercy had been wearing one of Lena's old RAF shirts; One similar to the shirt which was now in Amélie's possession. It was her most treasured gift. And not because it was the only gift she ever got. The shirt was the single most important material object Widow had. Ridiculous, it was just a shirt, but that wasn't important to Amélie in the slightest.

Tracer's best friend was being kept here. That alone was bad news, but Widowmaker also was very much aware that Lena was currently searching for Mercy. And the way Widow knew Tracer, she'd find Angela, she'd come here, charge into the ship and then... Well, two options really: One, she'd get herself killed by Talon in the process. Two: She'd actually free Mercy. Way too late that is. And Mercy would then do what Amélie did to Gerard.

Both was absolutely unacceptable.

There had to be a third option. There had to be something Amélie could do to prevent harm from coming to Tracer. But what? Could she even do something?

Widow stared through the mirror at Angela as she was continuously submerged in the barrel. It felt like drowning just from watching. Shuddering, Widowmaker felt a headache slowly creep into the back of her brain as she was contemplating what to do. A part of her urged her to help; to do something not primarily for Mercy, but for the one person she actually felt something for. The annoying Brit, who made her feel so warm, so wanted like nothing else ever could.

For a moment, the broken expression on Tracer's face flashed into Amélie's mind, the expression she wore when that AI told her about Mercy's abduction. And Widowmaker knew she would never want to see that look on Lena's face ever again. There shouldn't be anything but a happy smile on those beautiful lips.

But there also was a part of Widowmaker yelling at her to stop this madness. She was thinking about betraying Talon. But betraying Talon had only one possible result.

Punishment.

Widowmaker didn't want to be punished again. She knew she couldn't handle going through the reconditioning program for another time. The past few years she had worked tirelessly to please her superiors; to do whatever they wanted in such a way that they were content. And now she was finally at a point where they seemed to trust her somewhat. They didn't hurt her anymore. They gave her _some_ personal space and a bare minimum private life. As long as she complied there was no reconditioning.

That part of Widowmaker was scared out of her mind of what would happen to her should she decide to help Angela and be found out. Did she really want to betray Talon for a woman? For a human? For someone who could hurt her as well? In the end, Talon worked with a set of rules. Complying with them meant reward, defying meant punishment. It was a game Widowmaker knew _by heart_ by now. Tracer was still new; someone she needed to trust, and someone who wouldn't be as predictable.

And yet the mere thought of Lena Oxton made Amélie shiver in excitement, her desires ignited and that insatiable hunger for her driving every fiber of her cold body back into Lena's loving arms. Amélie knew Tracer _with_ _her heart_. And she knew that the bubbly Brit would never hurt her in any way. Not like Talon did and not in any other way either.

 _'Mon dieu, what should I do?'_ Widow thought, rubbing her trembling hands over her cold face. Never in her life had she been this scared of a decision before. No, that was not right. It wasn't the decision which scared her, it was the fact of how easy it was to actually make said decision, despite knowing the consequences.

Amélie's heart knew the answer from the first moment. Whatever part of her it was that Tracer always brought to life deep inside of Widowmaker, the part which made her feel _alive,_ that newly found piece of her had decided. And Amélie would listen to that part of herself, despite what the other one thought.

She was done with Talon.

She wanted to get out, make a run for it, vanish, or do whatever else it took for them to never come after her again.

She never wanted to kill for them again in her life.

What Amélie really wanted more than anything was to be with Tracer. It was Widow's only desire; the one, single craving she had for herself. Not imposed on her by Talon, but originating solely from what Amélie wanted. Not influenced and not manipulated. Her own unfiltered desire.

It was _her._ Tracer.

For Lena Oxton, Widowmaker _would_ kill. For her she would do _anything._ Because... well, she didn't really understand herself, but seeing Lena happy also made Amélie happy.

And that realization made Widowmaker's decision a rather easy one.

She would have to help Angela Ziegler. Both to protect Tracer and to give Lena her best friend back. If being separated from your best friend felt even half as bad as being separated from your lover, it was nothing Widow wanted to experience. And for Tracer it must have been double the pain. She was separated from both her lover and her best friend.

God, Amélie missed Lena already. There was a place in her heart growing cold whenever the bubbly Brit wasn't around, and it started hurting so bad.

She wanted to see her again. She _needed_ to see her again. And all she had to do was grab Mercy and make a run for it.

It sounded so easy in theory.

 _'Just get her and run. Yeah, as if.'_ Widow groaned in frustration. It was never easy. Never had been, probably never would be either.

There were so many problems making that theoretically simple getaway incredibly more complicated than it would seem at first glance.

It started with getting Mercy out of that swimming bunker, which already was a lot easier said than actually done. Widow knew that full well, especially now that time was against her. She had to think of _some_ way to _quickly_ get Angela to Tracer before the former could be turned into one of Talon's mindless slaves... or the latter came charging in here with guns blazing.

But Amélie couldn't simply get Angela out of here either.

Why?

First of all, because there was nowhere to run off to, and secondly, because the entire ship would notice soon enough. Maybe in the middle of the night they might make it to the upper deck unnoticed. But then what? Take a dinghy and push their luck in the ice cold arctic ocean? They'd be dead before Talon would have even noticed their absence. And they would notice fast.

On top of that, all of those musings completely ignored that Talon could always track Widowmaker down. They just had to press a button and they knew where she was. And contrary to the way Overwatch handled these kinds of things, you needed only one random person to activate the system to activate Widowmaker's tracking chip. No one gave a damn about her privacy.

Luckily, Talon had removed the miniature bomb they had implanted into her neck in the beginning, because explosive detectors were starting to react to her presence. Can't have that for a stealthy assassin now, can you? At least now Amélie didn't have to worry about being blown to bits if she took the wrong alley. After long years of loyal service, Talon had become rather trusting of her recently, apparently not really caring what she was up to shortly before or after she took care of a target. Interestingly enough, that time period aligned surprisingly accurately with the time Talon hired Reaper. Coincidence? _Probably_.

But that trust would quickly vanish should one of the prisoners disappear along with Talon's best assassin. They would surely look up her location then.

Which would mean constant trouble.

Even if she could get rid of the tracker, as long as Talon knew she was alive, they'd search for her.

Tracer's words came back to her mind. _Just fake your death_.

It would be a solution. No, it would be _the_ solution. All her problems would be gone. Somehow remove the tracker out of her neck and fake her death. When Talon thought Widowmaker was no more, they wouldn't search for her.

At least that was the theory yet again. Why was she even thinking about this right now? Hadn't she already explained the problem to Tracer? Faking one's death wasn't easy at all. You needed a perfect opportunity or meticulous planning. And there was no opportunity at hand. Widow couldn't just pull a lookalike corpse out of her ass and drop it off somewhere on the freighter.

God, she had no idea how to actually pull the stunt she was slowly planning in her mind off past a certain point. Widowmaker really wanted to live to see the end of this, but she didn't know how she would possibly achieve that.

All she knew was that she needed to think of something to protect Tracer. She quickly considered just killing Mercy and facing the trouble that would get her into. But the news of Mercy's untimely demise would most likely never reach Tracer in time. The Brit would still come to rescue a then dead Mercy. So, this particular effort would be in vain in more ways than just one.

Besides, Lena had told her lover about her best friend during breakfast. Somehow the topic of their conversation fell on Mercy. And when Tracer started talking about her best friend she had that adoring expression on her face. Lena had almost been raving about Mercy, who was always there for Tracer whenever she needed her. It was painfully obvious how much the doctor meant to Lena, how much she relied on her friendship, her support and her advice. Widow had to admit that she had gotten a _tiny_ bit jealous of Angela Ziegler in that moment. Jealous of Tracer's best friend who made the months after the Slipstream incident bearable for her and who had always supported Lena whenever the Brit felt lost.

Getting rid of Mercy was no option.

So what to do?

To Widowmaker's eternal luck, the world was not always as unfair as it usually seemed. Sometimes, God provided a solution in just the right moment you needed it in. This time it came in the form of a loud speaker announcement.

_"Attention all personal, this is your captain speaking. I want to remind everyone of the impending refueling process in the early morning. Please remember that open fire, which includes smoking, during that time is strictly prohibited. All deck activity from the times 1930 hours to 0300 hours are restricted to authorized personal only. Violations of this order will have severe consequences. Take appropriate precautions."_

And then, Amélie had the perfect, ingenious idea. Widowmaker smirked her trademark smirk of doom, a large part of her tension and apprehension simply washed off her.

Here was her once in a lifetime opportunity served to her on a beautiful silver plate. She _could_ fake her own death. Suddenly, everything seemed possible again. All the goals Widow wanted to achieve were within her grasp. She just needed to seize the opportunity. Given the now apparent circumstances faking her own demise was almost laughably easy to do for someone with her particular set of skills.

She didn't need a lookalike.

She just needed to make sure that no one would bother searching for a body. In other words, a clear ' _No-way-in-hell-did-anyone-survive-that'_ event. And Amélie had just the perfect idea as to what that would be.

Also, wasn't Angela a doctor? She could cut the tracker out of her neck before they made a run for it. This could actually work if her timing was good enough.

And if Montgomery didn't drown Mercy before that.

It was a risk Widow had to take for now. There were quite a few preparations she had to take care of before she would go and visit Mercy.

Preparing things would be the easy part. It was just a matter of being sneaky enough, and Widowmaker was _very_ sneaky; especially in a place she knew inside out. No one usually paid her much mind around here, and that would come in _very_ handy.

The difficult part would be to convince Mercy to trust a wanted assassin and come with her. It wasn't like Montgomery hadn't been trying to mess with Mercy's head enough by now. Chances were the poor woman was meanwhile completely paranoid and would most likely smell a trap if Amélie tried to convince her to come and bail with one of Talon's best agents.

Widow decided to cross that bridge when she was there. She would come up with something. Something that didn't involve mentioning Tracer to Angela. They agreed to keep their relationship a secret, and Widow would try and stay true to that promise for as long as possible. Who knew what it was good for?

Amélie stood up and left the room. She smiled inwardly, knowing that there was the almost perfect solution to all her concerns right in front of her. All she had to do now was be careful and soon things would be... fine. She'd see Tracer again sooner than she though.

' _Just like Tracer said. Sooner than I think. I am sure she wouldn't have guessed it would happen like this.'_

All Amélie had to do was stop by the medical supply station for some tampering with their IV bags, head to the armory to acquire some things which could go _bang,_ and procure a few items from the dressmaker.

Easy for an experienced assassin like her.

Amélie couldn't believe that she would be able to solve so many problems with one stroke and do something for herself in the process as well.

She'd get Lena's best friend out of trouble, which would make her lover very happy. She would _finally_ get away from Talon, which would make both her and Lena very happy, and she would diminish Talon's combat power, which would hopefully make Overwatch very happy. Maybe happy enough to let her stay somewhere safe and _not_ lock her up in some hole. _Maybe._ Still, that was no priority. As long as Lena was out of trouble, things would be fine.

A part of Widowmaker was still scared at the thought of defying Talon and the consequences she'd face if they'd ever find out.

But that part was silenced by Amélie's desire to be with Tracer again.

It was enough.

It had to end.

With a satisfied smirk, Widow left the small observation room.

-/-

**Diskon, United Federation of Russia, 1749 hours.**

The sun was slowly sinking behind a thick layer of heavy mist, slowly moving through the almost completely deserted streets of Diskon in wobbly billows. The lightning was only dim since the sun lacked its power at this hour and time of the year. Everything touched by light seemed colorless, nothing more than different shades of black and white. It must have been snowing the last few days, because there were large heaps of snow at basically every little corner of the old town.

Lena rubbed her hands together, even through her gloves her fingers felt like they were frozen solid. It was too cold. And it wasn't just any cold either, it was an all piercing cold, which made you shiver just by looking through a window. The small group had a half an hour walk behind them from the point the shuttle dropped them off to the small port town of Diskon itself.

The town was quiet, the rooftops coated with thick snow, like someone poured out icing sugar all over the place. It looked quaint, how the snow was hanging over the edges of the rooftops, forming sharp icicles on the ends. Only a few people dared to go outside, minding their own business, but that only added to the cold wintery charm of the city. The dark grey cobbles on the ground were covered with a thick layer of clear ice and snow which made a beautifully crunching sound with each step.

The group sent to rescue Mercy was standing near the port of Diskon, the large jetties deserted, some frozen over wooden barrels left behind, stubbornly bearing the weight of the heavy snow on top of them. The jet-black water of the Arctic sea was relentlessly splashing against the ice covered breakwaters and harbor walls, reminding everyone just what power was behind the tides. It must have been a ludicrous effort to keep the harbor ice-free at this time of the year. An example of how it would look like if no one bothered to do that lay right in front of the Overwatch agents. An old bark with its sails rolled up and probably frozen stiff was moored in the very front of the harbor, completely engulfed in thick ice. There was no way this ship would leave port before spring. It was like a reminder of what happens to things left uncared for. They got reclaimed by nature.

"So," McCree began, taking a deep drag of his cigar and exhaling the thick smoke into the icy air, which probably added even more volume to the white cloud. "Intelligence suggests there might be an abandoned hangar on the other side of the port with access to the water. Suppose we head there?" he asked, looking at Tracer who was gazing out over the port and the small town right next to it. It looked like time had stopped here somewhere in the middle of the 20th century. The optimist in her dared to call it _nostalgic._ It definitely had a certain charm.

" _Njet_ " Zarya interrupted, trudging past Tracer and McCree with two large black kitbags slung over her shoulder. Genji appeared to follow her, carrying one of the same kinds of bags. McCree also had one, with the only person not carrying a large kitbag being Tracer. Who _would have_ carried her share of the equipment herself, had Zarya not taken it from her, telling her that she already had to carry the burden of her best friend being kidnapped. Tracer didn't even bother arguing with the huge weightlifter. It wasn't like _not_ carrying a few pounds of explosives, silent door charges and other highly flammable objects unsettled her. At least no one had any objections when Tracer picked up the small backpack containing Mercy's folded Caduceus staff and her Valkyrie suit. Lena adjusted the bag slightly above her accelerator, while Zarya continued. "This is my hometown. We are going to stay with my _babushka_. She has a small hotel nearby" Zarya smiled over her shoulder and lead the way, waving her comrades to come along "Don't worry, she won't ask for IDs."

"A convenient and most welcome coincidence" Genji said with a respectful nod as he nodded for the others to follow. Tracer just shrugged at McCree and fell in line behind Zarya, who turned left and followed the port further towards the open sea. It wasn't like a warm hotel with rooms for everyone sounded bad in any way right now, especially if the alternative was probably a shack with holes in its walls so large you wouldn't need to use a door. Hell, Tracer couldn't really feel her feet anymore it was so damn cold. If she wasn't here for a damn good reason, Lena might have already been frozen solid. The mere _thought_ of a heated room made her shudder in excitement.

A few minutes later the group found themselves in front of a rustic hotel at the very edge of Diskon. The venerable hotel was almost built on a cliff, providing an awesome view over both the harbor as well as the open sea. Apparently the place was great from a tactical perspective as well as from a comfort orientated one.

The ice cold sea water was washing violently against the black rocks the hotel was built on, the slippery stone covered with thick ice. An ice cold wind was blowing harshly over the cliff, making the four comrades approaching the hotel shiver.

"Don't you think we will attract unwanted attention here?" Tracer called out to Zarya, trying to yell over the sound of the wind as they walked up to the front door.

" _Njet._ The hotel is mostly used by locals who want to sleep it off without their partners knowing. It's not too busy." Zarya reassured, pulling the front door open for Tracer to walk inside. A warm gust of air tickled around Lena's nose as she walked within, followed shortly after by her three companions.

The lobby was just like Lena had always imagined a Russian hotel would look like. She knew it was terribly cliché, and she had absolutely no reason to believe a hotel in Russia would look any different from one in Britain, but somehow when she thought about Russian hotels, she always imagined them in a certain style. With heavy, old leather chairs around small tables on a thick red carpet, with the walls boarded in a dark and heavy wood with a certain pattern. In her imagination, there always was crystal candelabra hanging from a ceiling made of the same wood the walls were, and Tracer always thought there would be an old Soviet flag hanging from the wall behind the reception.

The hotel she was in now was _just_ like Lena had imagined it. Minus the Soviet flag. She had to smile for a moment, taking in the serious, heavy beauty of the hotel. It even smelled right, like only old hotels could smell.

Tracer's marveling was harshly interrupted by an old woman rushing toward them. She looked well over a hundred years old, and should _not_ have been able to move this fast, but by some kind of medical miracle she apparently was. Maybe she looked just a whole lot older than she actually was. A part of Tracer doubted that.

" _Aleksandra_!" The old woman exclaimed, proceeding to hug Zarya before cupping her cheeks in a way only grandparents could ever pull off in a serious manner. This was definitely Zarya's _babushka._ Her grandmother... who was currently talking to her granddaughter in Russian. Lena naturally didn't understand a word because linguistic capacity was limited to English and little more than three words of German, two of which were curse words. Reinhardt's bad influence, obviously, not Mercy's. But Russian surely was no part of Tracer's language faculty. And even if she _had_ been able to speak Russian, Oxton doubted she would have understood any more than now. Zarya's grandmother was talking at light speed, apparently _very_ delighted to see the weightlifter who was trying to calm her grandmother down and inform her about the urgency of their visit.

McCree shrugged nonchalantly. He knew that kind of interaction too well. He was brought up by his grandparents since his parents had... more important things to do when he was a child. Like overdosing on some drugs. He had barely seen them in his youth and when they died, he couldn't bring himself to feel any sadness. His grandparents were his real parents.

Zarya, in the meantime, had apparently managed to stop her grandmother from talking, and seemed to explain the situation to her. At least judging from how she was gesturing toward Lena and the other two companions. Grandmother Zaryanova was nodding repeatedly before turning around and waving them all to come along.

"What did you say?" McCree wanted to know.

"I told her that we are searching for a friend of ours and that we need to stay here for a bit until we find her. I told her that no one can know we are here." Zarya replied, following her grandmother into a room in the far back of the hotel. It seemed to be some kind of conference room which hadn't been used for well over a decade. Tracer didn't mind as long as they could work undisturbed.

Grandmother Zaryanova said something to her granddaughter before she left, silently closing the door behind her. "She said she will get us keys to separate rooms should we stay for the night" The weightlifter stated, dropping her two kitbags onto the large table in the middle of the room just like McCree and Genji did before. "She also said she would make us some soup to warm us up. My _babushka_ cooks the best Solyanka you will ever have, trust me." Zarya beamed for a moment.

Tracer nodded, unzipping the first bag and starting to spill its content onto the table. A part of her felt bad for not appreciating the good relationship Zarya obviously had with her grandmother, but right now there were much more important things to care about.

"Alright. Let's get going then. Genji, please take care of the uplink to Athena, I want the newest satellite photos as they come in. Jesse, I want you to check if Headquarters has already managed to get a blueprint of the freighter Angela is kept on. And Zarya, please find out how long the refueling procedure is most likely going to take." Lena stated, starting to pile up everything from various tech for communicating to weapons and explosives on the table in the middle of the room. "While you guys take care of that, I will set us up here. I want to strike as soon as we can be sure that the tanking procedure is fully initiated and people start to fall back into their routine."

"Ya know, kiddo, you can be pretty bossy" McCree said in his usual laidback manner, which brought him an evil glare from Tracer.

"Jesse, my best friend got _abducted_ by _Talon._ I want her back _now._ " She replied tensely, glaring at her friend with an exhausted stare. She stopped clearing out the kitbags and turned to the cowboy. She was feeling herself getting angry, and there was nothing Lena could have done against it.

It was all too much all of a sudden, and the fact that Tracer hadn't closed an eye since she woke up next to Widowmaker after her nightmare didn't help one bit. Lena had never felt so sick in her life before. Her insides felt like someone was pulling them out with a string, and her skin was constantly tingling in a very uncomfortable manner. Lena was going crazy with worry about Mercy and Widowmaker. And as much as she wanted to yell at her comrades that she wouldn't be done with saving Mercy, she had to swallow any remarks hinting toward Widowmaker. That made it even more painful. Not only knowing what was most likely happening right in this moment to Angela, but also knowing what kind of danger Amélie was possibly in. And she could share her concerns about Amélie with absolutely no one but herself. It was eating Tracer away. Her voice was turning bitter.

"I want her out of their claws! I want her back! I want her back so bad! No one deserves this! No one!-" Lena started babbling as a wave of nausea hit her. She felt so lost and so powerless, and it was killing her. The feeling of not being able to do _something_ was probably the worst for Tracer. Her eyes were burning, and there was a sour lump in her throat threatening to choke her.

"Woah, woah. Where is this coming from?" McCree exclaimed, grabbing Tracer at her shoulders and giving her a gentle shake. She was freaking him out a little bit. Jesse had known Lena for a long time and she had never been _not_ happy. She always smiled and always laughed. Not once had he seen her with watery eyes on the verge of crying. Suddenly, McCree felt guilty for not shutting his mouth. "Angie is my friend too, ya know? I am worried just like you are" he said, but knew this was probably not true. He _was_ worried, of course. Who wouldn't be? Angela was a dear friend to all of them. But Tracer seemed to be out of it a lot more than anyone else was. To a degree where Jesse wondered somewhere in the back of his head if the whole 'best friends' thing between Tracer and Mercy was just a facade. They were hanging out a lot together after all, and Tracer was infamous for being a womanizer. It would explain why she reacted in such an emotional manner. Maybe they were- McCree shut that thought up. It was none of his business. "We'll get Angie back. Just lighten up a little bit." He lifted his hands off Tracer's shoulders. "I'll contact HQ and ask what you want to know. Afterward, I'll be outside and see if I can spot the tanker. You just have to relax a moment, ok? We'll kick their dirty asses; you'll see." McCree tipped his hat and was off to call the Watchpoint.

Tracer stood still for a second, taking a deep breath, before she fitfully turned around and started sorting through a huge pile of plastic explosives, a few tubes of Thermit-gel, silenced door charges, ropes, standard issue first aid kits, vacuum-packed field rations, some stimulant-injectors and various different parts of technological equipment like communicators and datapads. Lena had planned this as a silent and sneaky operation which wouldn't draw a lot of attention. But she still reasoned it would be a good idea to have some explosives handy, should they need them to open a few doors with more than a polite knock. It was what she referred to as the condom-principle. Better have and not need than need and not have.

Lena usually was meticulous when it came to organizing equipment, but now she was even more so. Doing something useful helped get her mind off the things that made her stomach convulse because of all the worries and concerns she carried around with herself. So, just to keep her fingers busy, she sorted the faint yellow packs of slightly smelly plastic explosives according to type and size, when a cold hand touched her upper arm. For a second, the cool chill it sent into her spine reminded her of Widowmaker's parky, gentle touch, and for a moment, Tracer felt her excitement skyrocket. But when she turned she discovered it was only Genji.

"I may not agree with the way our companion chose his words, but that does not mean his words don't carry a certain truth, Lena. Only in a calm soul rests a calm mind. We will need a calm mind if we want to prevail in this difficult task."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to support the story, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction  
> -/-
> 
> Translations:
> 
> fick dich = (German) Fuck you
> 
> Arschloch = (German) Asshole
> 
> babushka = (Russian) Grandmother
> 
> Solyanka = a spicy Russian soup.


	18. Come with me

**Unmarked Talon controlled freighter, approaching the tanker 'Athos', 1842 hours**

Widowmaker sighed heavily. The most difficult and most crucial part of her entire plan was still ahead of her. Apart from that, everything had been taken care of just like she had planned. No one noticed a thing.

When Amélie was replacing the drugs they used to turn the prisoner's mind to mush with simple saline solution no one even saw her slip into the cooling chamber. Widow walked in, replaced the labels of the harmless water, and threw the IV bags filled with drugs over board, before she left the reefer again. No one even stopped to ask her what she was doing, and Amélie doubted that someone would have even questioned her presence if they saw her. She was a shadow; nothing more.

Procuring a uniform which would fit was a little more tricky, because Widowmaker couldn't really steal one from the changing room of the soldiers. She needed someone ranked high enough to avoid being spoken to by a higher up and it, of course, needed to be a female uniform for Mercy. It would have been tough luck if someone recognized the name and knew the person wearing it should have been male. No. That risk was something she didn't want to take.

But Widowmaker was lucky due to the fact they recently took a young female Brigadier General on board. She was the commander of the _Dark Wing_. She was also a ruthless and cruel leader, fitting to commandeer the special ops division of Talon. Rumor had it she was reporting to Talon's nameless head directly, bypassing the board altogether. The general would do just fine for Widow's purposes. Amélie visited the dressmaker and pretended to run some errands for the D _ark Wing_ commander. Naturally, no one even dared to raise an eyebrow, let alone say something. Soon after a few firmly placed words and cold glares, Widowmaker had took a spare uniform back to her tiny private living space. Which was hardly more than a bed, a sink, and a mirror in a room the size of a prison cell. She had to admit the uniform might have been a bit over the top, but still _way_ better than a simple Corporal.

The most difficult job until now was stealing and placing enough plastic explosive to ensure the ship would blow up correctly. And with _correctly_ Amélie was thinking about _completely_ ; without anything left to salvage. Widow did spend hours to rig the fuel tanks, engines, and most importantly, the pipeline and valves used for refueling. It would have been great if she could have rigged the tanker as well, but she didn't want to risk being spotted switching ships. It would have to do. She would wait until the process of refueling was initiated before she'd make a run for it with Mercy in tow and blow both ships up into tiny bits. It would look like someone hadn't been careful with where they smoked. The freighter was running on highly flammable, extremely optimized high energy fuel which basically blew up when you looked at it too sternly.

Yet compared to what was to come, this all seemed like child's play.

The most important part of her cunning plan was still a big question mark, and that was if Mercy would even trust her enough to come along. It all depended on Dr. Angela Ziegler. Widowmaker decided that it would be best to be gentle with Mercy, that is, be nice and careful to win her trust. The otherwise deadly assassin might have had some inspiration from the way Tracer acted around her, which made Widow rather quickly trust the bubbly Brit. And now Amélie really _needed_ Mercy to trust her if her little plan would have any chance at success. So, no glaring, no threatening, and no intimidation; the polar opposite of what Widowmaker usually did. A part of her felt stupid, but it couldn't be helped. If she could try and find some of Tracer's caring warmth within herself around Mercy things would turn out fine.

The only thing Widow was afraid of was that Montgomery might have already succeeded in breaking the doctor far enough that she wouldn't be able to think independently anymore. The medical records suggested otherwise, but they also were some hours old. Montgomery worked fast.

Only one way to find out.

Widowmaker pulled the door in front of her open and stepped inside the brightly lit room. What greeted her was the smell of blood and sweat mixed with a barely tolerable heat. Her guts twisted as she saw Mercy tied to a chair, her arms behind the back, completely naked with old blood dried all over her otherwise stunning body. There were a couple of clear infusions hooked up directly to the vein in her neck. She was breathing heavily while Montgomery was walking up and down in front of her, holding a heavy metal wrench in his hand. There was a large hematoma on Mercy's ribcage, but it was quickly fading away into nothingness. Montgomery looked frustrated and at a complete loss of ideas like he never had before.

Widowmaker had to suppress a smirk. To think that the great master of pain, Archibald Montgomery, would one day run out of ideas because of a frail looking woman. It was almost inappropriately bemusing.

"You work too hard" Widow announced, causing the torturer to spin around. Her first goal for now was to get Montgomery out of the room before she could try and convince Mercy to trust her. A part of Amélie really pitied the poor girl, a part which felt like a lifetime ago she had been through something similar. But Widow consciously didn't remember anything. There was just this feeling of unexplainable sympathy for Mercy.

"What are you doing here?" the torturer wanted to know, trying to sound intimidating, but he barely managed to not sound exhausted. That blonde bitch was the toughest bone he ever had to crack, and with the sudden deadline from the boss, he was really feeling the pressure from above.

"You should take a break, Montgomery" Widow stated, crossing her arms under her chest. "If I remember correctly, which I somehow do this time, you still owe me..." Widow paused, because she had actually not the slightest idea how their favor-count looked. Talons memory resets were ridiculous. They tried to erase shit selectively, which only resulted in useless fragments most of the time. Some things she remembered; most she didn't. Now she was just gambling with Montgomery. A part of her was always a tiny bit scared of him, despite knowing how much of a coward that man really was. She was scared simply because she knew who would do the _reconditioning_ should she ever be subjected to it. But right now she ignored that particular side of herself.

"Two. Yes." Montgomery sighed. "Listen, I enjoy this game usually, but the boss really wants her ready, I can't let you do your thing this time around. Dammit, Widow, the last one was only half alive after you were done."

Widow looked briefly at Mercy, who glared at both of them like she was trying to murder them with intense stares.

She wasn't stupid. Angela knew full well who the blue skinned woman was. There was not a single person in Overwatch who didn't know. She was dangerous, as gorgeous as she was deadly and a walking precision weapon, honed to fulfill one task and one task alone: killing people. Without any guilt, remorse or sympathy, Widowmaker stalked her prey until it was dead. If Talon's master assassin was sent to take care of someone, their life was over. Period.

 _Reputation_ is what this woman had. With every completely impossible assassination, with each unexpected hit from the dark, it grew. No one ever caught a glimpse of her other than a few of Overwatch's best agents. And most of them were dead after their encounter with _her._ Now, whenever someone was murdered with a precise shot to the head, from an angle and in a situation said shot should _not_ have been achieved, the shooter was clear. _Widowmaker_.

And now the very same Widowmaker, who was marked as extremely dangerous and shoot-on-sight if possible, was standing right in front of Angela, eyeing her up for a quick moment. Mercy felt a cold shiver run down her spine simply from the way the ruthless assassin looked at her. And the things Widow said were _not_ helping her to calm down.

"Montgomery, I am willing to use both favors for some fun." she said, cocking an eyebrow "I really need a vent right now."

The torturer frowned "All two favors? What are you up to, Widow?"

"I like her face, _enfoiré_ " Amélie shrugged.

"What are you two sickos talking about?!" Mercy shouted, fury dripping off her voice like bitter venom. This made Amélie _very_ happy inside because it meant that Angela Ziegler was still there. Nonetheless, she needed to make sure later. For now, it was good to see that Mercy was pissed off enough at her presence to yell at them. She would have to work on that as well. Angela mustn't stay pissed off.

"Shut up!" Both Talon members hissed back. Yes. Angela mustn't stay pissed off. But Montgomery also needed to leave. Preferably now. _Baby steps, Widow, baby steps. One thing after the other_.

"You like her face?" Montgomery frowned before he started chuckling "Oh, now I see. She is a _girl._ Well, that explains things. I didn't know you swung that way."

Widow stepped forward and grabbed Montgomery on his face a little too tightly to seem friendly. Her fingers forced a ridiculously inappropriate duck-face on his dry, grey lips. He was getting cocky. Can't have that now, can you? "You know _exactly_ what I am going to do. So, get your mind out of the gutter; I am not you. We have a deal, _oui_?"

"Yes, yes" Montgomery shrugged defensively before Widow let go of him. "Jesus, don't take everything so seriously all the time. Have at her then, but remember that I need her to be able to talk after you are done. I'll get some coffee and be back in... half an hour? That enough for you?"

"Sounds good to me" Widow said, cracking her knuckles with a devious smirk.

"Just don't kill her" Montgomery remarked as he left the room. Widowmaker waited a moment to make sure that he wouldn't come back because of some forgotten shit before she moved over to the cameras and turned them off one by one.

Mercy was fidgeting in her chair, trying to get out of it, but all her efforts were in vain. Her eyes were glued to Widowmaker as she gracefully walked around the room with her heels clicking prominently, but also gently, on the metal ground. While she was shutting off the cameras, her hips were swaying back and forth with every step, and Mercy suspected that Widowmaker didn't do that without a reason. Was she teasing her? Then again, maybe it was just her way of walking. Amélie walked past Mercy and out of her field of view. The loud steps stopped, and the doctor only heard someone turning on a faucet for a short moment.

Some more light steps on the rusty floor and Widow reappeared right in front of Mercy. Talon's master assassin seemed to hesitate for a second, before the she sat down on Angela's lap.

Mercy's body stiffened immediately "Get off me, you freak! Don't think I will play along with whatever you are thinking of right now. Don't think I don't know who you are!"

"O _ui._ Of course you know who I am." Widowmaker smiled an almost pitiful smile at Angela, causing her to pause for a moment. The woman sitting on her lap suddenly didn't seem as threatening as she initially thought, and surely not as bad as her reputation would suggest. She wore a sad expression on her beautiful face, and her body language didn't seem hostile. Widowmaker was surprisingly light, Mercy noticed. Also, her piercing golden eyes didn't leave the deep blue orbs of Mercy. Something told Angela that whatever was going to happen would be not what Mercy expected. Still, despite feeling prepared for whatever Widowmaker planned to do to her, Angela was rather surprised, almost shocked, when Widow raised a wet cloth up to her face. Instinctively, she twitched away from the rag, but was met with concerned eyes peering into hers.

"Shhh, relax. I won't hurt you. It's just to clean you up a little bit" Widowmaker explained before she proceeded to gently rub the cloth over Angela's face. From time to time she folded the rag differently to get a clean surface for cleaning all the dried blood on Mercy's pale skin off.

"What are you doing?!" Angela hissed. She was so confused. Her body was hurting all over and now there was this woman being gentle and careful. A part of Angela cried out in relief, but at the same time, all her alarm bells went off loudly. This was not right! it had to be a trick! Something was up; Angela knew it. "Is this supposed to be the carrot and stick approach? Are you are the carrot or what?"

" _Non_ " Widowmaker replied sternly. "I will ask you a question now and your answer will decide what happens next, _compris_?"

Angela swallowed before nodding slowly. Her mind was so sluggish, hours of endless pain and suffering wearing her down. She needed to concentrate, but the gentle touch of the cool wet cloth on her cheeks was too distracting. Mercy knew that she wouldn't be able to fight much longer. Her resolve was fading with every minute she had been here.

"Who are you?" Amélie asked, peering deeply into Mercy's eyes. They were beautiful; so deep and blue and with a slight hint of violet in them. They were almost as wonderful as Tracer's, but lacked the infinite source of calm glee. They were more determined, fiercer and sterner, but they also were terribly broken at the same time. Hollow and exhausted.

Angela swallowed. _Not that question again!_ She couldn't stand hearing it anymore. She had no idea how many times Montgomery had asked her that question, doing horrible things to her whenever she had answered with the _truth._ She couldn't take it anymore. Her body was hurting all over. There was not a single place left which could have been tortured for the first time. She was sleep deprived and just wanted this to stop. She wanted it to stop. She couldn't think straight anymore. It had been easier when Montgomery kept hurting her simply because she could focus on the pain and fuel it into anger.

But there was no more pain.

There was just Widowmaker's soft touch, and it didn't help Mercy one bit as she caught herself leaning into the cloth a little bit while her eyes fluttered closed, but she couldn't do anything against it. Widow's cool touch was almost like a tiny glimpse of sweet heaven amidst the burning fires of never ending hell. At this point Angela would have done almost anything to keep that soft hand on her cheek for a second longer.

It was nice.

Soft.

Gentle. It didn't hurt, and all she had to do was telling her a number. Maybe _her_ number. It would be so easy. _TTS 627._ Three letters and as many numbers to make it stop. To give up her old self for a new one. To become... to become a monstrosity! With huge black wings implanted into her back.

 _You will gladly hurt those you call your friends and you will come back to me_ begging _me for more._ Montgomery's voice echoed through Mercy's hazy mind. She suddenly saw Fareeha kneeling in front of her, held down by Talon's soldiers.

 _"I am sorry, Angela"_ she had said, before they blew a hole in her head. The last thing Mercy saw was the hurt expression on the Egyptian's face. Hurt because she couldn't protect Mercy. Hurt because she failed her.

It felt like someone punched her in the guts to wake her up from a dream.

 _'NEIN! NIEMLAS!'_ It was wrong. Angela snapped out of her stupor as if struck by lightning, recalling the reason why she was here. The events of what had happened in Zürich. What they did to Fareeha. What they wanted from her. She wouldn't give in now just because that _murderer_ sitting on her lap displayed a more gentle side. Angela would stand her ground. They were all her enemy, and, _nothing_ else! Her eyes flew open and she jerked away from Widow's hand.

"My name" she said in a venomous hiss "is _Angela Ziegler!_ And nothing you say or do will ever change that!" Mercy contracted all her muscles in advance, preparing to be hit again. But the painful sting somewhere on her body never came. Mercy was completely puzzled when she saw an almost happy smile spread across Widowmaker's plum lips while she continued to clean some blood off the edge of Mercy's mouth.

" _Bien_ " Widow sighed relieved. "B _ien._ I really hoped you would say that, Mercy."

A long moment of heavy silence spread between the two women in which Mercy struggled to comprehend Widowmaker's reaction. It made _no_ sense to her whatsoever.

"What...?" Angela tried to ask in confusion, her stiff body starting to relax at least a little bit. What was that about? Something was going on and it was clearly not the way things were _supposed_ to be. Mercy suddenly had a _very_ bad feeling about this.

Amélie gently moved the cloth to Angela's right temple, carefully rubbing over it as she was speaking with a hushed voice "Listen, I can get you out of here. But you have to absolutely 100% trust me and do exactly as I say. I imagine this is difficult for you, but I won't risk it if I can't be sure that you do _exactly_ as I tell you." she said, her golden eyes full of determination, yet there was a glint of uncertainty and... maybe fear.

Mercy thought her ears were playing a sick joke on her mind " _Bitte_ _was?_ " she gasped. There was no way this was legit. There was no way this was not some kind of trap, or test, or whatever. Not in a thousand years would _Widowmaker_ , the woman who had more confirmed single handed kills on her account than anybody else in all history of killers and assassins, offer Mercy, an enemy to Talon and to Widow, to help her escape. _Never._

"You heard me." Amélie said, putting the cloth aside "But we have to be fast and careful. I have made some arrangements to get us out of here, but you _have_ to trust me. I am risking a lot here, so don't you dare screw things up. I'm dead meat if you do."

"Why would I trust you?" Angela almost snapped "This may be just another trick to break me for all I know" Mercy asked, absolutely not willing to simply accept Widow's words.

The assassin sighed heavily. It wasn't like she didn't understand Mercy's problem. In her current state, Amélie would have had trouble believing anything herself. "Listen, you really don't have a choice. You can either risk coming with me, or you can keep sitting here and take what Montgomery has in store for you. Your decision. But I kind of wouldn't want to trade places with you right now. You want to go?"

"Of course I want to!"

"Then you are left with no other choice but to trust me. There won't be another one offering this to you. I know you are likely thinking of your friends now, but you will be broken to bits until they arrive for all we know. I personally wouldn't tempt my fate on this one. Trust me when I say you really don't want to do what they are going to make you do." Amélie stated with a serious expression. "You wouldn't want to hurt your friends, would you?"

Mercy swallowed heavily, an unsettling thought suddenly crossing her mind. She really hadn't thought about that possibility before. Had Widowmaker been forced to do this too? The night Amélie Lacroix transformed into her new personality, the night she murdered her husband Gerard in his sleep; did she do that because Talon forced her to? Not because she chose to do so? Angela never looked at it from this angle. Then again the whole incident was never really discussed. It was a big taboo for some reason.

"No. No of course I don't." Mercy admitted.

"Thought so. I will get you out of here. I promise. You just have to trust that I can pull it off. Which I can." Widow said in all seriousness, looking Mercy directly in the eyes. She didn't seem like she was lying. Maybe it was that nervous tone Mercy picked up in Widow's voice which convinced her.

"Why would you...?" Angela didn't understand anything anymore. What the hell? Why would Widowmaker want to help? Why did she even care?

Amélie rolled her eyes in annoyance "I am surely not doing it for you, _Mercy_ " Widow snarled "I am doing it for me and someone I care about; someone who wants to see you free again. Is that reason enough?"

 _Someone I care about?_ Mercy's eyebrow twitched a little when she heard that, wondering what Widowmaker could have meant. Who could it be? Who could possibly be important to Talon's master assassin... at least important enough to risk anything to rescue Mercy. Dr. Ziegler felt like she was close to discovering some kind of connection between her, Widowmaker, and the person she had referred to, but she was tired, exhausted, and had trouble concentrating. A part of Angela knew that there was more to it than things would let on, but she couldn't figure it out. At least not now.

"I... suppose so?" Mercy replied, considering herself satisfied with the reply Widow gave her for now. It didn't really matter as long as Angela got out of here somehow. Better now than later. Beggars can't be choosers, right? If someone offered to free her, what did Mercy really care for the reason? As long as she was out of here. She was just still a little shocked to learn who her savior would most likely be. A part of her was convinced it would be Tracer who came charging in with a mighty battle-cry, carrying her to safety, wearing a teasing smirk and with a smug remark on her lips.

"Good." Amélie nodded with a relieved smile before she got serious again. "Still, I am surely not doing this for free. You will have to do something for me in return"

Mercy sighed tiredly. What did she expect? That Widow would help her out of the sheer goodness of her heart? Of course not. " _Natürlich._ I knew there would be a catch. What do you want?" she asked, looking at the assassin. A part of Mercy noticed that it was oddly strange how comfortable she felt with this deadly woman sitting on her lap, but she reasoned that this was just because Widow didn't beat her up and maybe because Angela was dead tired.

"You are a doctor, right?" Amélie stated more than she asked.

"Yes?" Angela replied with a nod, swallowing a snide remark concerning the reasons of her captivity. Widowmaker obviously had nothing to do with that. Not only because she was helping her now, but also because Mercy knew that Talon's master assassin didn't take hostages. If they would have sent her to deal with Angela, she wouldn't sit on a chair right now. She'd have a hole in her head.

"This all stands and falls with one crucial obstacle. I have a tracking chip in my neck which I need to get rid of _before_ we bail if I want to get out of here unnoticed. Can you remove it?"

Mercy furrowed a brow. "You will leave too?" she asked, totally taken aback. That was some _major_ news all of a sudden. Somehow she thought that Widow would only help her escape. but that she actually wanted to come along? What did she run away from? Dr. Ziegler had no way of knowing how Amélie's life here looked, and luckily, she also had absolutely no idea of the reasons why the deadly assassin suddenly wanted to leave Talon. Chances were she wouldn't have believed the reason if Widow had told her in this moment. That it all was because of Tracer.

"You think I want to hang around here after I help you escape? Please. Don't think they'd spare me a fate worse than yours if they found out." Widow laughed, expertly masking her true intentions "So, can you do it? Because if you can't, I won't waste my time. No way in hell am I going through reconditioning again."

Mercy blinked, so many questions burning in her head. _Reconditioning?_ Somehow the image she had of Widowmaker up until a few minutes ago was proving itself completely wrong with each word Amélie spoke. Where Widowmaker had been the culprit before, she rapidly started to turn into the victim in all this. It showed in the small details of what Widow was saying and it caused Mercy to wonder. Why? How? What happened? But Angela decided to save the questions for later. Now was not the time. Could she remove a tracking chip from Widow's neck?

If that question was only answerable in a simple way. It wasn't like there was only one place in the human neck to implant a tracker. Because there really wasn't. And depending on the location, it would either be a piece of cake to remove with nothing but an exhausted doctor, a scalpel, and a few minutes time, or almost impossible to do so with even the best team of well prepared specialists, the most advanced medical equipment, and all the time in the world. "Where in your neck? Like inside the CNS or-"

Widow rose a hand up to the side of Angela's neck shortly under her earlobe, causing Mercy to shudder slightly. Damn, her touch was so _cold._ What the hell did Talon do to her? "Here" Amélie said "about a centimeter in."

Mercy considered that for a moment, imagining all the possible obstacles she would have to think of at this location. Luckily, it wasn't implanted into the spinal cord, because that would have been impossible to impromptu remove. "I need a scalpel and a set of precision pincers. Both sterile, obviously. I also need rubber gloves and dressing material. Then it's no problem. It's close to the artery, but I can manage."

"B _ien_ " Widow replied in relief. Step one of two complete. "Also, I want you to put in a good word for me at Overwatch. I will need to hide somewhere after pulling this stunt off." Widow said, and had that demanding look on her face, which she had worn before. But there was also something vulnerable in her eyes; something that made Angela think Widowmaker was scared of something.

It was understandable. Mercy could only imagine how it must feel to run from Talon after being with them for so long. Still, the reason for Widow _wanting_ to run in the first place was a little... bizarre. Who would profit from her vanishing the most, Mercy wondered? And also, was there a chance she could actually do what Widow wanted from her? The only one who could decide what would happen to Widowmaker should they ever get back to Overwatch was Morrison. And he could be rather stubborn at times. Anyway, Angela was rather certain she had enough influence over him to convince him to let the assassin stay, perhaps if it was only for medical supervision or something. Granted, that would only work if Morrison didn't suspect Mercy's mind had been tampered with. She would need her medical records from Talon here... and probably Widow's as well. Angela knew that Overwatch had files on her, the ones that Genji stole years ago, but they were exactly that. Years old. The documents have been collecting dust in the archives for years since no one bothered to check them. No one really cared either. Amélie Lacroix was gone; nothing a few gigabytes of data could change. It was sloppy work, without a doubt. But it also wasn't important right now. Mercy reasoned they would need the newest ones to get anywhere.

"I can't promise you something definite, but I can reassure you that I'll try my best should we make it out of here alive. We will have to take my medical records, and yours as well, with us though. I need to somehow prove that I am still me, otherwise, my word will be worthless. I will have to look through your documents to prove that you are, indeed, no threat. You are no threat, am I right?"

Widowmaker snorted "At least not to you or your friends." she replied.

"Alright. That is all I can offer you, Widowmaker" Mercy told her. She couldn't give her any definite promises simply because Angela didn't know what would happen once they made it out of this nightmare of a swimming steel hell.

Amélie seemed to consider Angela's words for a moment "That will have to do. I will take care of the records. So we have a deal then? You get rid of the tracker and speak for me when I get you out of here?"

" _Ja_ " Mercy nodded seriously. "We have a deal" She couldn't quite believe that this was really happening, because it _should_ not have happened this way. Angela felt her heart beat faster and faster the more she thought about just _who_ was helping her here. Sitting on Angela's lap was Overwatch's most wanted, the assassin they all were instructed to shoot on sight, and the woman who had murdered her husband in his sleep. And yet the very same person who had killed countless of innocent people at the command of her masters defied those exact same masters now and helped a complete stranger escape for... for someone else? It made no sense.

" _Parfait_!" Widow said, and sounded relieved. "But you have to follow my instructions to the letter no matter what happens, otherwise, we are both doomed. Do you understand that?"

"Yes." Mercy nodded. It only made sense, she had no idea where they were and what they were supposed to do, whereas Widow most likely had a meticulously prepared plan to escape. Angela would have been stupid to question her savior.

"Say it!" Widowmaker pressed, her heart almost _racing._ She had never even thought of betraying Talon before. If this backfired, she would be absolutely screwed. And Tracer would never see either one of them again. The fact that Amélie usually didn't work with a partner didn't make things easier either. The few times she worked with Reaper didn't go too well. No. Widowmaker didn't do _teamwork_ too well, so she was rather nervous about rescuing someone she had never met before. Extracting a beat up, exhausted hostage, like Mercy was by now, surely was an entirely different number to working with a combat experienced killer like Reaper. And if even that went wrong, Amélie didn't like the odds of this stupid idea she had. Still, she needed to do it.

For Tracer.

This would work; it had to.

"I am to precisely follow your instructions at any given circumstance during our escape. And I will do that. If you say run, I run. If you say stop, I stop. If you say sing the Russian national anthem, I will fucking sing." Angela replied seriously. Somehow she understood why Widow was so tense. They didn't know each other at all, and Widow needed to make sure that Mercy would play along with the plan the assassin obviously had. Angela had no problem doing whatever Widowmaker said until she was out of here. It couldn't be worse than what she had already seen.

"Good. I will get the equipment I prepared along with the files and be back in a couple of minutes or so." Widowmaker said, moving to slip off Mercy's lap.

"Wait. Please." Angela stopped her with trembling voice. Her unbent and unbroken facade was quickly becoming undone now that there was hope in the air again. Now that there was an end to this nightmare just within Mercy's grasp.

"Mh?" Amélie paused, still sitting Mercy's lap.

"Could you _please_ untie me. I really don't want to sit here tied up until you come back. If Montgomery-" Mercy said, but choked on her own words. The mere thought of being at that monster's mercy for even a second longer made her insides cringe in pain. There was no way she'd be able to live through that again. And now that she knew they were leaving, she felt another desire burning inside of her. One she didn't get often, but one Angela Ziegler was familiar with.

"Of course" Amélie smiled gently, leaning closer to Mercy and letting a hand slide in between one of her arms and the chair. "You want revenge." It was no question.

There was no point trying to deny it. " _Ja_ " Mercy stated coolly. "I want him to know what it feels like. I want him to regret it."

"I could just kill him, you know?" Widow said, her skilled fingers starting to manipulate the binds.

She felt Mercy shake her head. "I want to do this" she stated. Amèlie didn't say anything.

"Widowmaker?" Angela asked, causing Amélie to stop only a few inches away from the side of Mercy's face. God this position looked like something it clearly was _not._ Widow simply wanted to undo Angela's bonds. She should have just gotten up and walked around, but somehow Widow didn't.

"O _ui?_ " her fingers stopped moving for a moment.

"Who are you doing this for?" Angela asked out of sheer curiosity. Somehow she needed to know.

"That's none of your business" Widow snapped, proceeding with what she was doing.

That was when suddenly the door creaked loudly and heavy footsteps walked inside. Mercy felt the temperature in the room drop a few degrees.

Montgomery was back way too early. There was no way that half an hour had already passed.

Widow froze for a moment, her brain racing and trying to figure out how she could finish undoing the ropes on Mercy's wrists without Montgomery noticing. She needed to distract him. She needed to divert his attention, and in the momentary rush, Amélie came up with quite possibly the stupidest idea she ever had. And Widow entirely blamed Tracer for it. She had been the one stirring these kind of ideas in her mind.

Like a flash, Widow leaned forward and caught Mercy by absolute surprise when the doctor suddenly felt cold lips hastily press against hers. With wide eyes, Angela escaped an overwhelmed moan as she tried to process what the hell was going on.

Her body tensed up as she felt one of Widowmaker's hands carefully grope her breast before the reason behind Widow's actions dawned on her. Montgomery was back and obviously watching while Widowmaker's other hand was stuck down her arm working on the ropes bound around her wrist. Mercy felt quick and skilful fingers hastily tamper with the knots. And when they began to considerably loosen up, she suddenly understood what Widow was doing. She was distracting Montgomery, keeping his eyes where she wanted them to be and away from what they shouldn't have noticed. While it probably wasn't the most textbook-conform idea by any stretch of the imagination, it would most likely work. Mercy decided it was best to play along and quickly relaxed into Widow's touch.

One thing was for certain, this was hardly the first time Widow had been touching another girl. Angela had no idea if the deep red blush on her cheeks came from all the adrenaline in her blood right now or because of something else, but a part of her had to admit that Amélie's touch was... rather pleasant. She had no difficulties in letting another moan escape her lips, and told herself it was because she wanted to distract Montgomery and not because a part of her actually enjoyed the sensation. Quick fingers moved around her wrists, and after a moment of being kissed and groped, the tight ropes cutting into her flesh hung loosely around her hands. Mercy grabbed them so they wouldn't fall to the floor, giving their trick away.

"Oh, am I interrupting something?" Montgomery mocked with a chuckle, walking into the room as Widow broke away from Mercy, spreading a fine strand of salvia between their lips. Mercy was blown away, mostly by surprise, but also by the fact of how much she enjoyed that. It had to be because of the stark contrast between being kissed and being tortured. Yes. That was it. It was only so nice, because it wasn't painful. No other reason.

"But you just wanted to do the _usual_." Archibald was laughing "Yes, yes. You are not like me. No, no. Not at all." he said "Better pay attention that no one finds out about that preference of yours" Montgomery continued while Widow leaned forward to whisper into Mercy's ear, parts of her cold skin pressing to Angela's heated and sweaty chest.

" _I replaced the IV bags with water a while ago. The drugs should be out of your system by now. You can take him on. He is a coward. You sure you want to do this yourself?_ " she asked, and Mercy gave her an ever so faint nod. Montgomery would have never noticed it even if his eyes weren't glued to Widows hand on Mercy's full breast.

Reassured that this was what Mercy wanted, Widow slid off her, a mischievous smirk on her lips which could have been interpreted as so many things at once. She eyed Mercy again, having to admit that she was playing along perfectly, mimicking the overwhelmed and confused victim in all of this.

Widow slowly stalked toward Montgomery with an eerie glow in her eyes as she stared him down. He actually gulped and took a step back. Even though he was on rather friendly terms with Widow, she still managed to scare him witless sometimes. Like... now. He should have kept his mouth shut and just let her do her thing. If she felt like snogging the prisoner, hey, not his problem. She turned the cameras off and didn't untie her. He was in no position to judge. Oh god, why did he have to open his mouth? She was looking _royally_ pissed.

"And they won't learn it from you, _enfoiré_. Are we clear?" Widowmaker pressed a finger into Montgomery's chest. He flinched at Widow's devious smirk "You know what happens to those who stand in my way."

"Relax, Widow. I was just messing with you. I mean, look at her, all flustered and red and weak. Oh, she looks so needy. I guess you did most of my work. I won't complain. It will be easy going from here on. Stop by whenever, ok?"

"Watch your tongue, Montgomery" Widow shot him a glare before opening the door "Have fun you two" she added, not looking at Mercy a second time.

-/-

**China, Lijiang Tower, laboratory of Mei-Ling Zhou, around the same time.**

Morrison looked at the cold golden metal doors right in front of him, soft music playing in the background. Typical elevator music. A modern piece sending off classical vibes and tranquility in pace and volume. From time to time he stole a glace at the display above the golden doors where a number kept climbing in accordance with the elevator.

A few minutes later he heard that long expected _Ding!_ as he waited for the doors to slide apart before he stepped through.

The room on the other side was huge. It was two stories tall and took up the entire ground of the floor with no walls. There was expensive and highly experimental looking tech standing, lying, and hanging everywhere. A little to his left there was a giant glass cupola which seemed to contain an entire ecosystem with trees and bushes and various other bright green plants. Large screens on the outside were displaying whatever data was being measured inside the cupola, while on countless tables around and in front of the glass biotope various different instruments were taking care of long time experiments. Everything was either made of glass, polished steel, or plain white plastic, and there was not a grain of dust to be seen. The lab was chilly, the environmental control apparently set to create an almost arctic atmosphere.

It would be fitting for the inhabitant of this lab.

"Mei?" Morrison called out, walking a few steps into the impressive room. He heard some rattling and clinging of glass before a woman stuck her head out in between two large metal cupboards. She quickly adjusted her large hipster glasses with two fingers.

Her round face showed confusion for a second before she brightened up visibly "Jack!" she exclaimed happily, dropping something on to a nearby table and rushing toward the Overwatch commander. "What a wonderful surprise!" Mei gave him a quick hug.

"I wanted to check on you" Morrison shrugged "You didn't answer the recall, and I was getting worried. But it seems you are doing fine." he took a demonstrative look around the lab, swallowing a sour lump in his throat. He had always liked Mei, she was relaxed, easy going and occasionally funny. Yet the documents Reaper gave him were clear-cut. There was no doubt.

"I know, I know. And I am so sorry" Mei replied, sounding genuinely guilty "I should have said something, but there is so much work to do, and I feel like I can finally change something with this research, you know? Do something good for our world and give something back." She smiled brightly at Morrison, and he really believed her. He never really questioned the purity of her motives. But there were affairs, where the end didn't justify the means anymore. Mei overstepped a boundary.

"So, you found an investor I presume?" Morrison asked, taking a stride into the lab, looking around further. It was a great facility with state of the art technology. Somehow he knew that Mercy would probably have to change her panties if she got the chance to play with so much new tech. She always had a thing for new scientific toys to fool around with. _If_ she had the chance. Which she _didn't._

"I did. A very generous one as well. I am really lucky" Mei replied, blushing a little bit. "Hey, now that you are here, we should catch up a little bit!"

"Yeah, I'd like that" Morrison smiled warmly at Mei despite having to force the happy expression on his face.

"Great! I have some beer in the fridge; want some?"

"You know me" Morrison laughed with a shrug. "I'll be on the balcony, marveling at the skyline"

"A wise decision. It is beautiful from up here. You can see over all of Peking!" Mei replied in good spirits as she turned to get the beverage she held out in prospect.

Morrison, in the meantime, slid the large glass door leading outside into the slightly warmer night air open and stepped onto the balcony. A gentle wind was blowing, and he found that the night was uncharacteristically peaceful for the given situation. The night was clear, and there was a beautiful full moon on the rise, the stars around it sparkling.

He stepped forward to lean over the handrail and look down a couple of hundred stories into the depths below him. Morrison was so far up he had trouble making out single persons on the ground. They seemed like ants from up here. For a short second it made him wonder how insignificant they all truly were in the greater picture. One would think one person hardly could make a difference. Yet one person could make _all_ the difference in the world. If anyone, he would know.

"Here you go" Mei said, ripping Morrison out of his musing as she handed him an ice cold beer, leaning over the handrail next to him.

Morrison took a deep swig of the green bottle, the bitter taste of the beer spreading in his mouth. It had been a while since he had the last one. Despite that, he had little difficulty knowing that this was by no stretch good beer. It was... well, more water with a bitter taste of old rice. He checked the label with a frown, and noticed that there were only Chinese symbols on it.

"Horrible, I know. But it's alcohol, so I don't complain" Mei said without looking at him. He chuckled deeply, setting the beer to the side.

"I didn't really come here for the beer" Morrison stated, and could have sworn that Mei did blush a little bit. Oh, that naive girl.

"R-Really?" she managed as Morrison reached over to her, turned her around, and was suddenly rather close to her. His hand slid down her arm and over her waist before it finally came to a rest on her thigh.

"No" he stated with a smug grin, letting the formerly faint blush on Mei's cheeks explode into something fierce.

"I-I... This is... unexpected. B-But... nice" she stammered nervously, completely unsure of where to put her hands. It had been so long since... well. God, if she had known that this was one of _those_ visits, Mei would have prepared for it. With cleaning up the lab and... showering, maybe. _Oh no, the bed is a complete mess!_

"You misunderstand" Morrison replied "Choosing your investor was a mistake" he growled before he pushed the hand resting on Mei's thigh upwards, lifting her onto the handrail, her balance solely kept by Jack's hand on Mei's legs.

"W-What-" she gasped eyes wide in shock. Her investor? How did Morrison know about that? How did he-

"Talon sends their regards" Morrison removed his hand and gave Mei a hard push, sending her flying over the handrail and off the balcony. He just heard her scream as she fell into the night.

Morrison poured his beer out over the balcony and put the bottle into his pocket. It was the only object his DNA could be unmistakably identified on.

He sighed and turned around to leave while he reached for his phone. At least this was finally taken care of.

"Yes?" The deep voice on the other end of the line growled.

"Took care of the rat."

"Good. Set her lab to the torch. We can't risk someone salvaging her research."

"Gotcha" Morrison nodded, not the slightest bit taken aback by the idea of burning down a laboratory in a skyscraper. "Did you get anything useful out of the files I got you?"

"Yes, but we'll have to discuss this later."

"Bad timing?"

"Kind of. I've got to take care of our little spider soon. She is causing trouble." Reaper growled.

"According to plan?" Jack wanted to know, finding some chemicals in the lab which would do just fine for what he had in mind.

"That remains to be seen." Reaper growled, watching Widowmaker and Mercy through the semi-transparent mirror. Widow was smart, no one questioned that. But she wasn't smart enough. A locked door could hardly keep him out of somewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you enjoyed Widow's and Mercy's exchange, because that was super difficult to write for some reason. The little breather where they kissed in the middle was something I really wanted to do. Just to lighten up the mood only a little bit. Also I guess most of you got the hint that this was just to awaken Mercy's potential to romance Pharah. So yeah.
> 
> I killed Mei.
> 
> Why?
> 
> Because I can. I also needed someone to bite the dust and out of all the options I dislike her the most. 
> 
> If you want to support the story, despite me killing off characters, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction
> 
> -/-
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Bitte was? = (German) Come again?
> 
> and some more French stuff, which already appeared in the story before. I am too wasted to look this up again now.
> 
> Have a good one folks!


	19. Time is ticking away

**Unmarked Talon controlled freighter near Diskon, 1940 hours.**

_"Attention all personal. Standby for refueling procedures. Fire-containment teams report to sections 9 - 14 immediately!"_ A monotonous, bodiless voice announced over the speaker system inside the ship.

Widow just smirked as she carried a large black sports bag over her shoulder, her right arm idly resting on the top of the bag, the palm touching the zipper as if making sure it was still closed. Her timing could not have been better. Just as usual, it was spot on.

Everything had been taken care of. Amélie procured Mercy's files as well as her own from the servers, stored them on a datapad, and printed them, just to be sure. Better safe than sorry. She had packed the uniform for Mercy and all of what little Widow possessed, like her rifle and gear, a detonator for plastic explosives and, most importantly, Tracer's shirt, inside the sports bag, and was now walking back to Angela's cell at a relaxed pace.

_'Don't draw attention.'_

Widowmaker usually planned her missions herself. This was just like any other job with the little difference of it being in a known environment. Which was a benefit. She could move freely, because she had all the right in the world to be here.

Yet she couldn't help but feel a certain edginess creep up in her guts. This little private mission shouldn't have made her so nervous. If _nervous_ was even the right word to use. Widowmaker was never nervous on missions.

But this time was different. Despite the huge advantages she had, she still had to concentrate so that her fingers wouldn't tremble, relaxing her breath and calming her racing mind. It was probably because her little endeavor was of such grave personal importance that Amélie wasn't quite as cold and collected as she usually was during her _hunts_. But a large part of her knew it wasn't only the personal investment. It was also the lingering fear of knowing what would happen to her should she fail.

Widow didn't even want to think about it.

Trying to get her mind out of those dark places, she wondered what Mercy could be up to by now. Amélie suspected the Swiss doctor would have already taken care of Mr. Montgomery. She was about to find out as she opened the door leading into Mercy's cell.

Amélie thought Angela would have just killed Montgomery or something. But what she saw didn't really fit to what Tracer had told Amélie about her kind and caring best friend.

Montgomery was bound to the very same chair Mercy had been tied to before. He was topless while his face was completely bruised and bloodshot by now as Angela towered over him, loudly but calmly talking to him in her native tongue. Widow swallowed heavily. She would _not_ have wanted to switch place with him right now.

" _Sag es! Sag es, du widerwärtiges Bastardkind einer blutigen Hafenhure! Sag es! Bevor ich dich aufschneide von hier nach da, dir die Haut von deinen erbärmlichen Knochen reiße und über deinem Kopf zusammenkote!_ _Davon stirbst du nicht, aber du wirst ersticken! SAG ES!_ " she hissed, her voice scarily void of emotions, yet with trembling hands as Montgomery looked at her with a scared expression.

"I don't understand a word of what you just said" he muttered in heavy breaths, his head turning to Widow, who he just spotted coming through the door.

"Oh, _mon Dieu_ , Mercy, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" Widow asked with a smirk. The doctor's head briefly turned toward the newcomer.

"Widowmaker" Angela greeted and breathed deeply, nodding at the other woman, before she turned her attention back to Montgomery. Mercy was wearing the grey rubber apron usually worn by her tormentor over her otherwise stark naked body. Somehow she had also managed to pull her messy hair together in that trademark topknot she liked to wear so much. She looked rather intimidating and Widow was sure that carefully hidden behind that facade of mock calmness was a ferocious storm of anger and pain. It made the whole scene only more horrifying.

"Mercy" Amélie replied back with the same polite nod while she let the bag she was carrying drop onto a cart filled with various torture instruments.

"Help me, Widow! What are you-?" Montomery started in despair, but was roughly smacked over his head by a returning Widowmaker.

"Shut up!" she sneered at him. Focusing her attention completely on Angela, she noticed just how shaken up Mercy really was, despite her trying hard to appear calm and collected. She didn't look too good anymore. Her face was pale and there were dark rings around her eyes. But the worst part was that her body was slightly trembling. Her nerves must have been raw, understandably so.

" _Alles in Ordnung?_ " [are you alright?] Widowmaker asked in Angela's native tongue, yet with a very prominent French accent. She did speak quite a lot of languages. Talon crammed that knowledge into her head whether she wanted it or not. At least it was useful.

Meanwhile, Montgomery stared at her, not understanding what was going on, his eyes begging for help. His silent pleas were left unanswered. Amélie just stepped behind Mercy and placed a supportive hand on her quivering shoulder. Gently pushing her back and away from Montgomery, Widow saw the eerie purple glow in Mercy's watery eyes and the scalpel she was holding clenched in her blood-smeared fist. Widowmaker carefully peeled the sharp tool out of Angela's hand and apparently only then Mercy realized that she had been staring at her tormentor the entire time. She snapped out of it, shaking her head loose of the dark thoughts rampaging inside her and settling for a simple nod as an answer for Widow.

She wanted to say something, but Montgomery interrupted her before she could even find the right words.

"Widowmaker, what are you doing?! Why are you helping her? What are you talking about?" he pleaded to know, the terror clearly apparent in his croaky voice. Montgomery sounded pathetic. For someone who had taken such immense pleasure in hurting others, he surely couldn't take a lot of pain.

Coward.

"I am not your god damn translator, _enfoire_!" Widow hissed, turning to the tied up torturer "But I recommend you say what she wants you to say before she stops cursing you and starts flaying you. Because that's what she said she is going to do to you: flay you alive in a way which doesn't kill you, and proceed to tie your skin above your head, watching you suffocate to death" Widowmaker explained coolly and absolutely devoid of any emotions, like she placed an order for take-out dinner. "And seeing how she is, contrary to you, a trained medical professional, I'd take this threat very seriously. There is little doubt that she can pull that one off."

Montgomery swallowed as Amélie was pushed to the side by Mercy. "Say it, you little piece of shit. Say it and we are done."

But he didn't speak up. At least not fast enough. So, Angela punched him straight across his face, like she obviously had done quite a few times before. Contrary to her, Montgomery didn't heal up immediately. She wanted to do much more, but couldn't. In her heart was so much hate and anger it blinded her senses. All she could think of was punching him over and over and over again until her hands were bleeding.

There were no words for what she felt for this monster. There was no way she could ever express how horrible she felt. Even now that he was the one bound to a chair and she the one inflicting the pain, Mercy still felt so dirty; so used and so very fragile. Despite having suffered through everything without breaking, she felt vulnerable. Hauling off for another punch, her arm was caught by Widowmaker before it could land a blow on Montgomery's face.

Her head snapped around to look at the woman who had stopped her with a mixture of a quizzical expression, slight betrayal, and seething rage.

"Your hands are far too valuable for primitive punching. Besides, I need you to remove the tracker later on. Can't really do that with broken fingers, can you?" Widow said, gently yet with quite some determination pushing her aside.

"I suggest you tell her what she wants to hear, Montgomery" Widowmaker glared daggers at the torturer. If looks could kill, Archibald Montgomery would have been dead a thousand times over. "Or I am going to beat it out of you." Widow smiled a scarily inappropriate warm smile at him.

"Why are you-?" His sentence turned into loud screams when Widow slammed the scalpel she took from Mercy before into his thigh. She didn't mess around. "I ask the questions. You just say what Mercy wants to hear. Now."

"Widow-" Montgomery breathed, crying out loud again when Amélie twisted the scalpel around in his leg. It was disgusting. That human trash was spilling his repulsive dark blood everywhere. Widow had to step aside so her heels wouldn't be soiled. "Wrong. Try again, _enfoiré!_ "

Montgomery breathed, but didn't speak up. Mercy just stood there kind of awkwardly, watching the whole scene. She couldn't help but feel her heart cry out in relief with each delicious cry of pain. For reasons Mercy didn't understand, it felt much better watching Widow do this than actually doing it herself.

"Nothing? Mh." Widow shrugged, roughly pulling the blade upwards in his thigh, splitting the flesh in half "Mercy, in your professional opinion, how many filets would we get out of his thighs?" she asked, grabbing his throat with her free hand and suffocating the scream he produced, turning it into a wheezing burble.

Mercy blinked. She wanted to laugh in delight with all the joy she felt to see that _thing_ in such pain. But she also felt like she shouldn't idly stand by and watch this madness! She was a doctor, for crying out loud. Her whole life she wanted to help people. Yet, she had also killed before. And she had also seen others being killed at the hand of someone else; people who deserved it way less than Montgomery.

And then there was the fact that Widowmaker was doing this for _her._ Angela didn't understand her motivations whatsoever, but she was trying to get him to say what Mercy had been trying to hear from Montgomery since she overwhelmed him the second her hands were free and she was alone with him again.

Just as she wanted to reply with her answer, Montgomery chose to open his filthy mouth.

"No! Stop! I'll say it! I'm sorry!" he yelled "I'm sorry, ok?! Just stop it! I said it! I am sorry! I am sorry!"

Amélie looked over to Mercy who nodded faintly. There. He said it. He apologized. It seemed so stupid, but Mercy liked to believe that it would maybe give her some kind of closure or a definite end to all this shit.

After a moment of waiting for Mercy to say something else, Widowmaker yanked the blade out of his flesh, causing him to cry in pain. Apparently everything was said and done on Angela's behalf.

"Why, Widow? Why are you betraying us _now?_ After all those years! What did I ever do to you?" Montgomery managed between hissed sounds of pain.

Amélie just snorted in bemusement, looking deeply into his glazed red eyes. "You got that all wrong, Montgomery. It's not you..." she said with a smirk "...it's me" and with that snide remark she slashed the scalpel clean through his throat. With his eyes wide, the blood was gurgling out of his cut neck and spilling all over his body and onto the floor.

Within seconds, Archibald Montgomery, Talon's great master torturer, was no more. Widow relished the moment of the kill with a slightly wicked smile on her lips. It continued to give her a kick, taking a life, even if it was a miserable one. It still made her heart beat faster and harder. A large part of her was enjoying this, and she knew that it would probably never go away completely. It was part of who Widowmaker was now; a part of who Amélie had become.

A moment of heavy silence spread in the cell before Mercy spoke up again.

"He deserved far worse for what he did" Angela stated bitterly, the eerie purple glow in her eyes slowly fading away. Mercy squeezed her lids shut for a moment, and upon reopening them the violet hue was gone, replaced by a shocked and horribly sad blue ocean.

" _Oui._ That he did." Widowmaker agreed "But he wasn't worth more of my time." she added, enjoying the shocked expression still frozen on Montgomery's dead face. What she didn't enjoy was how Angela started to shiver badly; looking at her own blood smeared and bruised hands, then at Widow before her gaze wandered over to Montgomery once again. Amélie really wished that Lena would be here right now. Angela looked like she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and Widow had no idea what to do if that actually happened.

She didn't do emotions well. Hell, she didn't even understand her own feelings half of the time, yet alone those of someone else. Widowmaker was still stumbling her way forward into that new world Tracer introduced her to.

Suddenly, Amélie felt how Mercy feebly hugged her from the side, awkwardly trying to wrap her arms round the French beauty. Widowmaker froze in place for a moment, only used to physical contact from Lena, when she noticed that Angela was sobbing. Her calm facade had crumbled to peaces the moment Montgomery's blood spilled onto the rusty metal floor.

"Is it over?" she choked between rasped breaths. "Please tell me it is over. I- I can't... anymore. Please." she tried to say, but her words were nothing but ragged sobs. Angela had no idea how long she had been locked up in here. She was exhausted, her body was hurting inside out, and she was legitimately confused. All this time she had tried to stay strong in order to withstand whatever Talon did to her, steeling her mind against their assaults and repeating her little mantra over and over again. But now, all of a sudden, it seemed to be over, out of nowhere there was relieve.

Suddenly, she felt safe. It was like she had been pushing against a massive, unmoving wall which now was just... gone. Mercy floundered forward, trying not to fall, and the only one who was there to catch her was Widowmaker.

Irrational it may be, but right in this moment she seemed like some kind of angelic protector, a savior who wouldn't allow harm to come to Mercy. It was too much for Dr. Ziegler. She felt so worthless. So guilty. Undeserving to live on where Fareeha wasn't allowed to. Mercy wanted to be strong, for Pharah, for her friends, and for those who depended on her, but Angela couldn't do it anymore. She couldn't take it anymore when she broke down in a sobbing mess, desperately clinging to Widowmaker for support.

God. Amélie hated that he was right about this. Widowmaker had never in her entire life comforted someone. It had never been necessary before. And she, of course, had no idea how to do it. Tracer was the one who gave emotional support; not her! She was too new to emotions in general to even rudimentarily understand what was going on inside of Mercy apart from maybe incredible relief.

Angela shouldn't lean on Widowmaker right now. Or better yet, never. Then again, there was no one else around, and this had to be a good sign as well. Didn't it show that Mercy trusted Widow at least to a certain degree? She wouldn't allow herself to break down like that if she considered her a threat, would she?

Still, wouldn't Lena be much more cut out to help her now?

But Tracer, unfortunately ... or fortunately, wasn't here now. That meant Widow was left with little choice but to quickly think of what her lover would most likely do in such a situation.

One thing was certain; she couldn't leave Angela like this. Not only because she still had to remove a tracking chip from Amélie's neck, but also because they were nowhere near done yet. This was the first of many steps. They were not safe yet. And Widowmaker needed Mercy at one hundred percent if she wanted a chance to get out of here alive. This meant the sobbing doctor needed to calm down.

Widowmaker turned in Angela's embrace and pulled her a little closer "Yes, Angela. It's nearly over." She told her, and would have almost used _chérie,_ but that phrase was reserved for Lena and Lena alone. "He won't ever touch you again; I promise. Relax. We need to keep a calm mind. We aren't out of here just yet, remember?" Amélie said, slowly letting go of Mercy, after the doctor had taken a deep breath and calmed herself down a little. She looked at Widowmaker for a moment with her deep blue eyes before wiping the tears away.

Turning to look at Montgomery's blood covered corpse, Mercy took in the sight. Some part of her was incredibly satisfied to see him dead, some part of her regretted it came to this, and another part of her was of a different opinion altogether. He should have been hung by his feet.

"It's over." Angela repeated as if she was convincing herself. Mercy couldn't really believe that she would owe her life to Overwatch's most wanted assassin. It didn't make any sense. But Angela was at a point where she just accepted things the way they were. The fact is that Widowmaker was the one helping her now, without any real need or pressing reason, at least none Mercy understood. She was helping, and she watched out for Mercy. The reason didn't really matter, did it?

"Thank you so much, Widowmaker" Angela said with the utmost sincerity in her thanks. The assassin just shrugged, rather uncomfortable with this kind gratitude. She wasn't doing it for Mercy. She was doing it for Tracer and herself. So _they_ could be together again. Her motivations were horribly selfish at the end of the day.

"Don't thank me. I am helping myself, remember?"

"But you are helping me, too. And I am thankful for that" Mercy replied firmly.

"Whatever. Are you ready to move on?" Amélie asked, and got a firm nod from the doctor.

"Good; we are on a schedule after all. There is something for you in the black bag I brought with me. Go slip into that." Widow said, eyeing Mercy carefully "The rubber apron doesn't suit you." she added with a teasing smirk, doing a decent job at lighting up the mood at least a little bit.

Mercy nodded and turned away to do what Widow told her. Amélie stayed where she was for a moment longer, looking at Montgomery. He definitely had it coming, and Widow was sure that from all her victims, those few she vaguely remembered and those many she clearly didn't, this guy would be no one she'd ever shed a tear over.

Widowmaker heard Angela shuffle through the bag while she walked over to her and watched as Mercy pulled out various different pieces of clothing before placing them wherever there was room around the bag. Shoes, white underwear of approximately Mercy's size, black pants with a red stripe covering the outside seam, an equally black uniform jacket with a golden epaulette and a single silver star on it, and collar patches with two double wings. There also was a black leather coat with the same military marks, a combination cap with the Talon symbol on it and a simple grey T-shirt.

Just when Mercy was about to wonder why there was a rather odd shirt in there, Amélie quickly snatched the grey cotton fabric out of her fingers. It would have been a disaster if Angela had seen the print of the Royal Air Force on it. Luckily, Widow was fast enough to stuff Lena's RAF shirt back into the bag.

"That's mine" she hastily explained. Amélie _really_ didn't want to elaborate now on how she got a shirt from the RAF and why exactly it was in her bag. Especially considering that the damn thing was clearly a world too small for her... and probably still smelled like Lena. Which it did. Widow had used it to calm her nerves just before she made her way to Mercy's holding room.

But Angela seemed to think nothing of it as she just shrugged and started to slip into the undergarments Widow provided.

"I wish I could have showered..." Mercy muttered under her breath.

"It will have to do" Widowmaker remarked, waiting for Mercy to get dressed. She noticed the large pair of black wings in the corner of the room and walked over to them, inspecting them for a while. It didn't take a genius to figure out what they were made for, especially considering the various tubes circulating blood through the cold flesh and how the wings slightly moved some of the larger feathers on the edge, as if sailing in the wind. Widowmaker had to admit the wings were looking rather marvelous from a rational distance, ignoring their purpose. Their shiny black feathers were large and the wings seemed like they were cut off the back of a fallen angel.

They would have been beautiful had they not been created to be implanted into someone's back against their will. These tragic wings would have been the cause of a lot of pain, both physical and psychological. It wasn't like such a huge and heavy addition to one's body wouldn't have any effects on the victim's physiology. The body needed to adjust to both the added weight, the shifted balance, and the sudden need of substantially more blood. And those were just the most obvious things. Changing sleeping habits, probably being unable to sit properly, and a way more complicated personal hygiene were the things you didn't think about in the first place, but which would most likely wear the bearer down over time. Also, how did one get dressed with a pair of huge wings on your back?

The changes Talon made to Amélie's body were rather insignificant in comparison, and she had to struggle for years with unwanted side effects. It wasn't until a few months ago that she was able to finally stop taking a certain medication, which prevented her body from shutting itself down. In other words: A slow and painful, yet certain, death.

She didn't even want to imagine what those wings would have done to Angela's petite and slender body if Talon would have followed through with their plan. She would have never been the same again.

"They wanted to implant them into my back" Mercy said, as if confirming Widowmaker's thoughts. Mercy's voice was completely void of any emotions as she appeared right next to Widow, fully dressed. The doctor looked actually rather impressive in that dark, black uniform of a Talon Brigadier General.

"Mh. They enjoy doing things like that" Widow replied, trying not to dwell on it for much longer. The empty expression on Angela's face made it clear that she was well aware of how the consequences for herself would have looked.

Of course Mercy was aware of the likely effects. She was a proper doctor after all; maybe the smartest one the world currently had to offer. There was no way she wouldn't have known.

"They changed you too, didn't they?" Angela said silently, like she wasn't allowed to speak about it "I noticed how cold your skin is."

Widowmaker didn't miss a beat as she answered, deciding to just tell Mercy now instead of letting her read everything in the files she brought along. It was probably better this way, so Mercy could find out about all the things Talon did in a more personal way than the rational distance a medical report file created. They always made what was basically torture sound like huge medical achievements.

Amélie usually didn't ever talk about her modifications. The few shattered memory fragments that were left inside her head from the countless operations and procedures were too painful for her. She hadn't even told Tracer, fearing what it might do to the bubbly Brit. Widow had no idea that Lena already knew what happened.

"Artificially reduced heart rate and body-temperature. My eyes were removed and replaced with biogenetic implants. They adjusted my metabolism for more efficiency. I can go for weeks without nourishment, if it need be. They toned down all of my emotions except for the more primal instincts, those which made us great hunters in the past. I didn't feel anything apart from the pleasure of killing for so long." She sighed, looking at Mercy whose mouth was slightly agape and her eyes were wide open in shock. "I don't know why that is. They probably did something to me to make me enjoy killing. I don't remember." Amélie inhaled deeply at the memory of Lena lying in front of her, bleeding after Widowmaker had beaten her up and trying desperately to make her _remember;_ to shake her out of the nightmare she was stuck in. A cold shudder crept up and down Widow's spine at the thought. "It was just recently that... someone woke me up. I don't want to forget that person again." she explained.

"You don't want to forget?" Mercy found herself asking before she could stop herself. It wasn't really her business at all, probing this deep into Widowmaker's day to day life, but a part of her needed to know. The same part of her that didn't understand why Talon's killer would help her. Apparently there was way more to Widowmaker than anyone had suspected. The feeling that Widowmaker might actually be the victim in all of this came back at full force. Before now, the thought that Amélie wasn't here of her free will never even crossed Mercy's mind. But apparently that was exactly the case.

She heard the French woman inhale sharply yet again. "They reset my memory every two months, so I don't remember anything they don't want me to after that. Probably to keep me obedient and dependent, I don't really know. Never dared to ask. It's like you watch an old movie through frosted glass with completely messed up audio. Sometimes there are confusing fragments left, but nothing makes any sense. I-" she stopped herself, searching for the right words but not finding them. She couldn't phrase that her sense of self was almost gone every two months and that she had to somehow piece together who she was only to be wiped clean again. Most of the time she just blindly stumbled forward, confused and left alone, doing what they told her she had to do simply because there was no other way. "I just don't remember." Widowmaker didn't tell the doctor that whenever she _did_ remember something, or better yet, when Lena helped her remember, it felt like someone was drilling her head open with a dull spoon.

"You never wanted anything of this to happen, did you?" Mercy asked, a horrible reality becoming more and more clear with each word Widowmaker spoke.

"I-" Widow choked "No. I didn't join voluntarily. I think."

"That's why you are helping, right? So you don't forget again." Mercy stated more than she asked.

"Yes" Widow nodded. "Everything prior to a few weeks ago is just one big blur. I don't remember anything before that." she said with a subdued sneer. It wasn't Angela's fault but Widowmaker found herself growing angry.

"Nothing?" Angela asked sadly. This sounded like such a horrible fate to suffer. "Not even your family?"

Widow shook her head no, her eyes still fixed to the dark wings gently moving back and forth as if they somehow contained the answers she was searching for. "I never had family as far as I am concerned." _True_ "I don't remember any family either." _Lies. I remember Lena full well._ "Sometimes I recall faint images of a random man, but those memories feel too heavy and intimidating. I get uncomfortable when they come back." Widow said, getting exactly said feeling of distress. She quickly shoved these thoughts aside. If at all, she'd share that with Lena, not her lover's best friend. "And that's it." Widow forced a laugh on her lips "Now I'm just a tool to them. They made me the way I am: A malfunctioning walking weapon."

Her last words lingered heavy in the stifling air for a moment of complete silence.

"I am so sorry" the doctor said silently, awkwardly looking away. Somehow the reality of everything around her still wasn't fully processed by Angela's hyper intelligent mind. The reality of just _how_ close Mercy had come to a fate maybe even worse than Widowmaker's. And that the latter was the one bailing her out of this nightmare now. There were so many questions floating around in her head, she had difficulties sorting through them. But the most important one was the _why?_ Why was Widowmaker helping? Who did she do this for? Was it the same person she didn't want to forget? Probably. Heavens, each word of their brief exchange revealed a cold and cruel reality behind the feared assassin called Widowmaker. It wouldn't surprise Mercy if the person fearing Widowmaker the most was the hitman herself.

"They made me a great sniper" Amélie shrugged, deciding to finally change the topic of their conversation. They shouldn't even have it in such detail in the first place, let alone here and now. It was the worst possible location at the worst possible time. Inside of Mercy's cell, with a dead Montgomery still strapped to a chair. But somehow Amélie understood why Angela was Lena's best friend. You could talk to the doctor. You felt like she was listening to you without judging you. Widowmaker decided that she'd maybe give Mercy a chance. If she seemed trustworthy, she might give that whole friendship thing a try one day.

Maybe.

For a brief moment, Widowmaker felt a cold shiver run up and down her spine. Her spider senses were tingling. She couldn't help but feel like someone was watching. But that was impossible. The observation room was locked, and the cameras were turned off. She was getting paranoid.

"Listen, let's take care of this tracker in my neck and then we need to get going." she said, turning away from the wings and back to her bag, searching for the stuff Mercy had requested. She placed it on the same table right next to the gym bag while Mercy kept staring at the imposing black pinions. ' _If not for her, it would have happened to me. I really_ owe _her. Big time.'_

"Mercy?" Widowmaker tapped on the doctor's shoulder. That seemed to snap Angela out of her momentary daze as she turned toward Amélie and inspected her neck for a moment.

" _Gut_. I need you to remove the suit around your neck and sit down on that chair." Mercy said, walking over to the small sink where she quickly but thoroughly washed her hands. She carefully rid them from all the old blood on her skin before cleaning the new scalpel Widow brought along with disinfectant, just like she had done a thousand times before. It was routine. And routine calmed her down. "I don't have a sedative, so this is going to hurt." The doctor said, slipping the rubber gloves on.

"Just cut that damn thing out." Widow groaned after she nonchalantly pushed Montgomery off the chair she was told to sit on. His dead body fell to the floor without anyone batting an eye. The whole area was completely smeared with dark blood, but it couldn't be helped now. They didn't have the time to clean up now, so Amélie simply threw Montgomery's rubber apron over the chair, so she at least wouldn't sit in his blood. It had to suffice. "I want to get out of here" she said, sitting down and clamming her hands tightly around the chair's legs. There was no armrest.

-/-

"All done" Mercy said, showing Amélie a long silver needle a little thicker than a nail maybe but also a lot shorter. She placed the metallic thing in the sink at the backside of the room. Even if this was basically an easy operation, Mercy hated doing it. Her hands were trembling like they did on the day she took her final practical exam. But apparently Widow was perfectly content with Mercy's performance. She didn't even flinch when the scalpel had torn through her cold flesh and the purple blood had gushed forward.

Widowmaker rubbed over the bandage tightly wrapped around her neck before she closed her bodysuit again. Mercy really knew what she was doing, so much was certain. The procedure wasn't painful at all. At least not compared to the stuff she usually found painful.

The worst part was how shocked Angela was when she saw Widowmaker's purple blood.

"You good to go?" Amélie asked, and received a firm, determined nod from Angela, as the French assassin grabbed for the bag on the cart next to them. Reaching inside, she handed Mercy a pistol with the words "just in case."

Hesitating for a moment, Angela took it and quickly tucked it away in the inside pocket of her coat as she followed Widowmaker out of the room and into a dark and only sparsely lit corridor. For a moment, Mercy's vision got blurry and she had a disquieting feeling spreading from her stomach into her body. She was concerned for an instant, knowing what this meant, but the feeling was gone as fast as it came. Maybe being a bit foolish, Mercy ignored the signal her body was giving her not for the first time in the last couple of hours, or days, or however long she had been locked up and tormented by Montgomery. It didn't matter. What mattered was that her condition was progressively getting worse.

Luckily, Widowmaker didn't notice. And with a bit of luck, she'd be back at the Watchpoint before anything major happens.

 _'I just need my staff. I really need it.'_ Mercy thought, following right behind Amélie who was explaining the plan to her.

"You are Brigadier General Natasha Azarova" Widow went over in hushed whispers to Mercy as they changed into an almost abandoned corridor. She would have done this while the doctor was removing the tracking device from her neck, but Angela had told her to shut up and not move during the procedure. So, Widowmaker was making good use on the time now. "You wait for others to salute, count to three, then dismiss them. Otherwise, ignore everyone. If someone wants something from you, just give them crap. You are the General, you can do whatever you want."

"Couldn't you have found a uniform from someone less important?" Mercy asked, stressing out. This seemed like a horrible idea all of a sudden, as everyone who walked past them seemed to notice her. "And what about the real Natasha Azarova?"

"No. This way you will be left alone. You two look similar enough, so don't worry" Widow shrugged "No one will dare to speak up, trust me, Azarova is infamous for her cruelty"

"That's not what I meant. What if we run into her?" Mercy wanted to know.

"We-" Widow suddenly stopped dead in her tracks and turned around. She definitely felt something strange yet again. Someone was watching them; she could _feel_ it. There was a certain breeze of air which should _not_ have been there. She stared down the abandoned corridor behind her, but no one was there.

"What is it?"

"Shh!" Widow hissed, shutting Mercy up immediately. Listening for a few more seconds, Widow deemed herself completely paranoid and turned around again "It's nothing. Forget it."

"As I was saying, we won't run into Azarova, just trust me. I took care of that hassle." Widow said with a very suggestive smirk on her lips, and Mercy decided that she didn't even want to know. Aware of what Widowmaker was so infamous for, someone was probably venting her brain right now.

"Alright, alright. What now?" Angela asked, just to get that particular picture out of her mind. She had seen enough blood and violence for quite some time. She could really live just fine without imagining even more gore.

"We head topside, procure a boat, and head straight for Diskon. From there we shall see."

"That does sound rather easy..." Mercy pondered "But don't you think they'll follow us?"

"I have placed enough C4 at the fuel valves to level a skyscraper. Once I hit the switch, no one will be able to even count bodies. We make it to a safe distance and then it's time to say _Au revoir_! After that we'll have them off our backs."

"Oh." Was all Mercy could reply with when Widowmaker changed corridor. She deviated from the route she initially wanted to take, but she couldn't get rid of the suspicion that someone was following her. And she couldn't have that. So, she quickly came up with an idea where she'd lose their prosecutor. Widow just hoped Mercy was ready to face some people. Even if it only was for a moment or two. It would have to work.

"Listen, I am not taking any chances with this. If I am going to vanish, I will do it _right._ No way in hell am I going to risk that Talon learns I am still alive after this." Widow said with a hateful sneer, glad that Mercy was completely oblivious to the real reason why Amélie wanted to get away from Talon so desperately. She doubted that Angela would understand. She doubted anyone would understand that she wanted to go so she could be with Tracer. That the cold blooded, cruel assassin was no one she _chose_ to be, but a side that was forced on her. Amélie didn't have a choice ever before. She literally took the first one she got to make a run for it. The first time she _could_ decide, Amélie _did_ decide.

And she chose life, happiness, peace and, most importantly, Lena Oxton. If it wasn't for Tracer and her incomparable kindness, her affection, her persistence, and her sometimes annoying nature, none of this would have happened. But Widowmaker knew that no one would understand that let alone believe her. So she didn't bother with a reason. They would all assume it was some kind of ruse, a trick, or whatever else. Something to hurt those whose trust she had gained. "But let's see that we make it to Diskon first. You might want to contact your friends then. Do you have someone you can trust and who would come and pick us up?" Widow asked, even if she knew the answer already

" _Ja,_ I think so. My best friend. She is... was a pilot. I am sure she would come and pick us up. And I am sure I can convince her to not shoot you. Probably"

Widowmaker had to suppress a smile. She had to imagine what Tracer would say and do once she found out who had brought her best friend back. Or how they'd act around each other. Would Tracer keep the act of not knowing each other up? It didn't matter. The decision was hers in the end. It would just be important that Widow brought Mercy back.

Amélie looked forward to a very particular reward which she would surely get from her lover. She couldn't wait to be in her warm embrace again. It was almost scary how much she _needed_ the Brit already; how much she craved to be around her, to be able to touch her, and to be able to hold her tight. Amélie would naturally never admit as much, but Lena had her completely under her irresistible charm. She didn't stand a chance.

"Excellent." Widow said, doing a good job at hiding the excitement in her voice. Mercy mustn't know that her new found ally was a lot closer to that best friend of hers than she might have guessed. "I hope you have found to your role as a Talon General, because we have to go through here" she added coolly. And before Angela could ask what she meant, Amélie had already opened the door in front of them, waiting until Mercy had walked inside. "Just keep moving."

Loud chatting and the sound of countless people talking to each other merged to an inaudible murmur like it could only exist in one place.

They were standing in the mess-hall.

Mercy froze in place no more than two steps in and blankly stared forward. Talon fucking _everywhere._ A gigantic pool of black uniforms and she would have to walk right past them to the other side. Angela could only think about one thing and one thing alone; someone would recognize her. There were more than enough soldiers of Talon in the corridors when Montgomery had dragged her along from one location to the next. Someone would look at her and remember where they had seen her before.

Widowmaker groaned silently, noticing just where Mercy chose to freeze. Of course she just had to ignore what Widow said and didn't keep walking. _Great._ It was the absolute worst place to stop; especially for an officer.

Right next to the guard, who was posted at each entrance, like she was waiting for something most members of the generals expected when they entered a room.

And as if fate wouldn't have it any other way, Mercy turned around in the exact wrong moment when the guard was looking at her.

He swallowed heavily, looking at Angela, taking in her uniform while simultaneously reading the name-tag on the left side of her chest.

Quickly snapping to attention he saluted before inhaling deeply. Widowmaker knew what would follow. And she didn't want to see it happen.

"Teeeeeeeeeen-hut!" he roared over the chaos in the mess hall. "Brigadier General Azarova!"

The introduction.

 _'Non! This isn't happening!'_ Amélie wanted to sink into the floor and die, the plan of being left alone was backfiring massively right about now.

Despite it all, Widowmaker had to give some credit to Angela: she handled herself well when the entire mess hall suddenly shot up from their places and snapped to attention. She stared into the hall and, despite being confused as hell for a moment, she managed to look more pissed off. Angela didn't allow them to stand at ease. Be that because she forgot or because she did what Widow told her was a different question entirely.

The seconds ticked past, and Angela's heart was racing like crazy, her mind completely vacant of any useful information or any idea of what to do. She could clearly recall the exact anatomy of all 21 muscles in the human forearm in this moment... which was _not_ helping her. Mercy didn't even understand why that particular information popped into her mind _now._ But it somehow did; it must have been the adrenaline rushing through her veins like barbed wire.

Luckily, that bit of complete bollocks was followed by Widowmaker's words ' _Give people crap'._ Angela remembered how her old drill-sergeant back in basic training had always loudly barked at the recruits like they were nothing but human trash. And then her creativity kicked in as she caught a breath. The moment seemed like an eternity and two minutes instead of the few seconds it probably lasted in reality.

"What time is it, soldier?" Mercy asked the man to her left, an angry expression on her face, ignoring his rank simply because she couldn't read it.

The man swallowed and looked at his watch. "It is 2110 hours, General." he replied, trying to maintain a firm voice but failing.

"And you think this is an appropriate time for sitting around and having fun in the casino?" Mercy yelled loudly, actually rather impressing Widow with the determination in her voice. The doctor herself had no idea how she was pulling it off, and she hardly heard herself speak. Adrenaline was a wonderful thing, wasn't it? Even though it scratched through your insides like it wanted to tear them apart.

"Ma'am-"

"Don't you dare talk back to me. Everyone will report to their respective stations and get back to work, you lazy bums! Dismissed!" she roared, causing the entire population of the mess hall to slightly fall out of their stiff posture to look confused at Mercy.

That was when Widowmaker stepped up to support the fake officer. "What are you waiting for? You heard the General! Supper is over! Get your ass in gear before I do it for you!"

"Yes, Ma'am!" The soldiers yelled in unison before quickly scrambling. Widowmaker utilized the chaos and gently pushed Angela forward through the disorder to the other side.

"What did I just do?" Angela asked silently, and visibly shaken up, as Widowmaker guided her through the muddled ado of people clad in intimidating black. Mercy's heart felt like exploding it was working so fast. She tried to walk upright, but it cost quite some concentration to do so.

"A good job, _chouchoute_ "

-/-

* * *

**The hotel, Diskon, 2148 hours.**

Tracer was absent-minded and half asleep munching on some Russian soup Zarya's grandmother had brought them about an hour before. It was stupidly spicy but rather delicious and it made Lena's never ending feeling of freezing to death go away.

She was staring at a satellite image of the unknown Talon freighter being brought about the tanker they were supposed to meet up with. The recorded imagery showed how large arms connected with Talon's swimming base while a few people did something to fasten them before they left deck. The infrared image revealed that no one was on deck. For almost the last two hours no one had been on deck.

Truth be told, Oxton wasn't really watching. She stared through it like the image wasn't even there. Her mind had wandered off to dark places a while ago; places showing her what Talon most likely did to her best friend right in this moment. Her guts turned upside down as she remembered how brutally cruel and ruthless Talon was when they modified Amélie. How they treated her. The feeling of freezing wasn't caused by low temperature in the room, because it was quite toasty. It was caused by almost going crazy with worry. There was not a single person she cared for and didn't have to worry about right now.

Angela was abducted by Talon which, in itself, was more than enough.

But not only that, Tracer also had to leave Amélie behind to go and search for her best friend. A part of her wanted to smack herself for doing so. She could have taken her with her. Screw everything. Widow could have hidden in her London apartment. No one would have noticed. But no, Tracer didn't think about that at the time. And now Widowmaker was out there _again_ doing God knows what, getting herself in danger, simply by being with Talon.

Tracer's heart hurt just by thinking about it. What if Talon somehow found out? What if they would punish Amélie? What if they'd reset her memory again? Would Tracer be able to bring her back another time?

God she was so _scared_ of what was to come. So many variables. So many possibilities. Tracer just wanted this day to be over. She wanted her best friend back and she wanted to know her lover was safe. That was hardly asking for too much, was it?

It shouldn't have been this way in the first place.

Tracer should have done so many things different. If she just hadn't allowed Widow to leave her in the belfry in London in the first place, then she would maybe have stayed with her. And then Amélie wouldn't have been sent to Numbani to deal with the major, which meant that Tracer wouldn't have went either. And then she could have accompanied Angela to Zürich together with Fareeha. And then Angela would maybe still be here. She would be safe and Talon wouldn't have gotten her.

It was all Tracer's fault! All her fault. If she just had-

"Tracer?" Zarya's voice echoed in her mind, and Lena raised her head to look at the Russian woman.

"Mh?" she murmured while Zarya stared at her. Lena had dark circles around her bloodshot eyes, her skin was pale, and the otherwise radiant freckles on her cheeks toned down to dark marks. She looked twenty years older than she actually was; like a walking corpse. A blind man could have seen the worry and concern written all over her face, how all life had left Tracer's eyes and how her dry lips hadn't smiled in a long time. She had some badly healed bruises along her neck and up to her ear which had taken a very unhealthy deep purple color, contrasting the paleness of her skin in a very grotesque manner. Tracer looked like she was close to collapsing any moment now.

"When was the last time you slept?" Zarya asked. "You look-"

"Like shit, yes. Thank you. I get it. The jokes start to get old." Tracer grumbled.

"Seriously, how long have you been up?"

Tracer checked a watch behind her, tilting her head and cracking some of her bones in the process "Ugh." she sighed "Around 30 hours by now" Lena admitted, and had to agree that the weight pulling on her eyelids was becoming heavier by the second and more and more unbearable.

"You need to rest" Zarya said with a pressing tone, but Tracer shook her head in disagreement. There was no way she'd take a cat-nap while Mercy was in such grave danger! And also not while Amélie was out there somewhere, playing a dangerous game of hide and seek with Talon. In the back of Tracer's mind she had that nagging fear that Talon somehow found out about them. What would they do to Widow? If she could just rescue her lover like Tracer was doing for her best friend right now.

"We have no time for that. There is still a lot to do and I surely won't take a nap while my friends are in danger!" Lena blurted, her eyes growing wide for a second as she awkwardly scratched her head.

_Fuck!_

Zarya rose an eyebrow when she heard Tracer use a plural where none should have been, but then again, her English wasn't so good. She might have misunderstood. Or she could assume it was caused by Tracer's exhaustion. Either way, now was hardly the time to discuss grammatical details.

"We got it; you can close your eyes for a few minutes. Take a rest" Zarya insisted.

"It's ok, I'll just take a stim" Tracer shrugged, but was glared upon by her Russian comrade.

"Tracer-"

"I said, I'll take a stim later." Lena sneered. She was in a horrible mood with so much going on. The last thing she wanted was someone being concerned for her. She was fine. Tired, yes. But fine. No one was brainwashing her. No one was torturing her. No one was cutting her back open to stuff tech inside her body, and no one was resetting her memory with toxic chemicals either. Tracer was doing great. There were people in much direr need of their help than she was.

"Did you have one already today?" McCree asked from the other side of the room. He apparently overheard their little exchange from a safe distance.

"No" Tracer replied, shaking her head. She was telling the truth. It had been months since she had to take the last one.

"Good. Then at least take one now" Zarya said, leaning over the table and shuffling through the few things that were still left inside one of the kitbags they had brought along. She retrieved a long aluminum tube, maybe the size of a small torch, which she pressed into Tracer's hand.

The Brit glanced around in the room and noticed that all eyes were on her. Zarya looked worried, as did McCree. And if Tracer could have seen Genji's eyes behind his helmet, she was certain he would have looked just as concerned. "Fine" she sighed and rolled her eyes, but complied.

Yeah, yeah, she got it. They were all looking out for Overwatch's ray of sunshine.

Stupid.

Lena shook the tube a couple of times with a metallic rattle before rolling up the sleeve of her jacket.

"What did you need anyway? I hope you didn't just come to check on me" Lena muttered, pulling the cap off the silver tube and revealing a long, thin needle behind it. Staring at the sharp tip for a moment, she slammed it into her arm and pressed the button on the top of the cylinder. A sizzling sound emitted from the unit, and Tracer started to feel like she just had a couple hours worth of deep, refreshing sleep, a nice hot shower, and a few good meals. Weren't stims a wonderful invention?

They weren't.

Sure, they were _useful_ in the field, because they made worn out, exhausted soldiers ready for battle in a matter of minutes. Quick and easy pick-me-ups. But they surely weren't wonderful. Use more than two in a short period of time and you could have used a bullet instead. They were dangerous.

" _Njet._ I didn't just want to check on you." Zarya replied "Headquarters just identified the freighter and sent us the blueprints" she continued, waiting for Tracer to set the now empty stim-injector aside before she passed her a datapad with information.

"What did they find out?" Tracer asked, turning the pad in her hands twice simply because she thought it was upside down in the beginning. Which it wasn't. Maybe the effects of the stim still needed a bit to fully spread into her body.

"Everything we need. Formerly registered as the MSC Rifaya, launching took place in early 2019, the ship has been run by the Mediterranean Shipping Company until late 2047. Then it was bought by a company called 'Clockwork International', the same one which is running the tanker. The freighter was allegedly lost during an accident not a month after they purchased it. But it is clear from the configuration that this is indeed the Rifaya, despite not being registered anywhere. All identification transmitters have been shut off. It's a ghost ship"

Tracer nodded, skimming over the blueprints, her eyes wide and clearly not happy as to what she had to see. These blueprints showed a swimming colossus made of steel. "Pegasus class containership. 1305 foot long, 197 foot wide, 98 foot tall without structures." Lena let the pad drop to the table in front of her. "How the hell are we supposed to find Angela in that steel monstrosity? Her signal says she is somewhere in the front, but she could be literally anywhere there. How the hell are we even supposed to get inside in the first place? You can't jump a hundred feet into the air and land on top, and we have no pneumatic rope-launchers either." They had ropes though, which weren't any help.

McCree, who had set his umpteenth cigar aside to devour a bowl of soup, leaned forward in the creaky old chair he chose to sit in opposite to Tracer and snatched the datapad, scrolling through the countless documents of blueprints it contained. He had spotted the freighter docking with the tanker a few miles off shore and took a couple of photos for HQ before he returned back inside. To him the hot soup was a present from heaven as he basically inhaled the spicy liquid. That definitely made his frozen bones thaw. "We have plasma-cutters, don't we?"

"Indeed, we do" Genji replied, spotting a pair of said cutters somewhere on the table.

"There is a maintenance hatch at the backside. It is rather low, barely above sea-level. We get a boat, bring it in position, and cut the door open. From then on..."

"Mercy's signal is accurate to 25 meters, so we at least have an approximate idea where she might be. In that area we have no other choice than to search room for room, deck for deck. Preferably without being spotted" Tracer said. She had a _very_ bad feeling about this. Something told her this mission would be an utter disaster. Like... an epic disaster. "I don't like this. We have to get through the _entire_ ship without anyone noticing us and _back_ as well."

"We are left with no other choice. We knew it would be difficult" Zarya said.

"Yes, difficult, I agree. But this feels close to impossible. I want to get my best friend back, not get her and anyone else killed... or worse" Lena said more to herself than to her comrades. She felt empty inside. The worry was eating her away. God how she hated sitting around and planning stuff. She wanted to jump into action and do something, yet the better part of her knew that it would have been stupid. Things needed to be prepared properly to work out. It was for Angela's best. Lena Oxton knew that. She still wondered why she felt like she was the one torturing Mercy with every moment she was sitting around and wasting her time with thinking.

"Would it be a reasonable approach to not board the freighter by means of ships but maybe utilizing a shuttle?" Genji suggested. "This way we could go on board at the front, search for Dr. Ziegler, and leave the same way we came."

"I like the idea" Zarya said, but Jesse shook his head, pushing some buttons on a mobile console which suddenly displayed a large holographic projection of Talons swimming base above the table.

"Headquarters said they spotted multiple automated anti-aircraft guns and various rocket launch platforms on deck. So, unless you want to be blown to bits, I'd rather use the boat."

"Any signs of torpedo-platforms?" Zarya wanted to know.

"None. The rockets are multipurpose, but if we get a small boat, they shouldn't be able to get a lock on." McCree replied.

"Then we are left with no other choice. We have to pass the entire length of the ship twice" the Russian weightlifter stated.

"That might not necessarily be the case. Should we choose to leave someone with the boat, we could proceed through the inside of the freighter while the person entrusted with the boat can head around and pick us up at the front." Genji suggested "This way, we wouldn't be required to proceed through the ship twice without being noticed."

"How do we get down to our cockleshell? Which we, by the way, still have to somehow acquire." Tracer asked.

"Jump?" McCree suggested, causing Zarya to snort.

"You'd be dead before you reach the boat, cowboy. The water is barely not freezing. You have three minutes in it, at the most, before your body goes into cold shock. If your body can't maintain basic muscle function, you can't keep yourself above water anymore and, before long, you lose consciousness and drown." Zarya explained. She grew up in the cruel winters of Russia. Knowing what the cold did to your body was her survival-guarantee. "And that is for someone unharmed and healthy. We have no idea in which condition Dr. Ziegler will be. I doubt she will be in any way fit for swimming in ice water."

Genji cleared his throat "Also, I am unable to swim. My cybernetic body prevents me from doing so. It is too heavy. I'd drown"

"You could pilot the boat" McCree shrugged.

"Still doesn't solve the problem of what we do if Mercy is in no condition to swim" Tracer groaned. "It's not like we could just drop her onto the boat. And I doubt carrying her would reliably work. We don't even know if she is conscious" _We don't even know if she still_ wants _to come with us._ Tracer shuddered at the thought, knowing full well what Talon could do to someone's mind. She learned that quickly with Amélie. Lena chose not to voice that particular thought. The mere idea of having to knock out her best friend to rescue her was sickening. And Tracer had no idea if the strategy she used with Widowmaker would work with Angela as well. Their connection was never romantic; it was just...a very good friendship. Nothing more.

"Rope sling?" McCree tossed into the room.

"Too windy" Tracer replied. They'd never hit the boat with someone swinging back and forth in the winds like a pendulum.

"We could get to sea level and blow a hole in the outer wall. Once we make a run for it, it doesn't matter how much attention we attract. We have enough explosives" Zarya suggested.

"We may risk igniting the tanker" Genji provided.

"If we blow the far off side, we should be good, I guess" Tracer said "We have to take some risks."

"Do we all agree on this then?" McCree wanted to know, getting nods from everyone.

"Alright. Let's get to it then. Check your gear and pack up all the explosives and charges. And don't forget to bring Mercy's staff along. We might really need that thing. Zarya, you and I will head out in half an hour and try to procure a boat."

"Are you talking about stealing one?" The Russian weightlifter asked.

"I was more than less thinking about borrowing it" Tracer replied with a shrug. "We are going to meet up here in 90 minutes." Tracer said to Genji and McCree, pointing at a spot inside the port of Diskon.

-/-

* * *

**Inside the freighter.**

Mercy was following Widow through the complicated corridors after the mess hall. They weren't stopped by anyone so far, and Angela started to really believe that Widowmaker's plan could actually work.

"Follow me" Widow said, pushing a door into a large metal staircase open. "We'll head topside now"

"Right behind you" Mercy replied, falling in line behind Widowmaker as she followed the assassin up the stairs made of metal mesh connecting platforms of solid metal surfaces. Angela tried not to look down, because she got the feeling of falling through the stairs, but looking straight ahead wasn't really a good idea either. Mercy stared right at Amélie's perfectly shaped rear, swinging slinkily back and forth with every step she took.

It was a sight to behold.

A sight which made Mercy uncomfortable.

Reallyuncomfortable. _Too_ uncomfortable.

She quickly realized the reason wasn't Widow's latex-wrapped rear. The nausea from before was back as Mercy's world started to spin around her. She desperately grabbed at the handrail to avoid falling down the stairs behind her.

"Angela?" Widow asked as she noticed that Mercy wasn't right behind her anymore. She turned around to see the doctor huddled against the handrail, blinking rapidly and obviously rather sick. Her skin was almost ashen, and she had clear difficulties not falling.

Amélie quickly walked the few steps back and supported Mercy by grabbing her arm, bringing her to the next entresol a few stairs above them. "What's wrong?" Widow wanted to know. The doctor didn't answer, but was instead just gasping for air with her hand tightly grasped around her stomach, her face contorted in pain. Mercy was starting to really scare Amélie when the fine veins from her neck to over her jaw line and up to her temples began to suddenly turn pitch black as if someone poured color into her blood.

Mercy groaned in pain and, as if that wasn't enough already, she suddenly shot forward into the corner of the entresol where she hurled her guts out onto the solid metal surface of the mezzanine. The coughing and choking sound she made alone was enough to make Widow feel sick herself. Mercy's rasped whoops were almost suffocating her.

But the really bad thing was what Widow had to see once she held Angela in place so the doctor wouldn't crash down into her own vomit. She could barely stand at this point.

There was a dark red puddle on the floor, almost black, but clearly red. _Blood._ And the weirdest thing was that the liquid seemed to move, some kind of metallic hexagonal-pored structure was beginning to form on the surface, quickly solidifying.

" _Mon dieu!_ " Widow gasped.

"It's ok. I am fine" Mercy breathed slowly, wiping her mouth clean with the back of her hand. She carefully tried to stand upright again, catching her breath. Angela knew this would happen sooner or later. She just hoped that they'd get off this damn ship before it did.

"You don't seem fine at all" Amélie replied " _This_ usually doesn't come out of a human."

"I know. I know." Mercy said defensively, feeling an uncomfortable pull inside the side of her face. The prominent dark color of her capillaries was fading away again. "Those are malfunctioning nanoprobes. I pushed too far to withstand Montgomery. Usually my body creates and replaces them in a preordained pace to keep my vital functions in check. But with all the things the probes had to do to fend off the effects of all the things he did to me, together with being influenced by high currents over prolonged periods of time, large portions of my nanoprobes probably got destroyed. My body is getting rid of them before they attack vital organs."

" _Vital Organs?_ " Widowmaker shook her head as if she didn't hear right. "Are you telling me the tech which is keeping you alive could also _kill_ you at any moment?"

"I have no way of knowing for sure. I obviously can't run any diagnostics right now. But vomiting nanoprobes is usually a bad sign. So, yes. I might have made a mistake."

"You _might_ have made a mistake?" Widowmaker sneered, staring at Mercy in disbelieve.

"It's not like I had a choice!" Mercy defended herself. "And the system was never meant to be electrocuted! What were you expecting? It was designed to keep a human body alive and healthy, enhancing survivability in the field, not cancel the effects of excessive torture!"

Widowmaker blinked and felt herself growing a tiny bit angry with Dr. Ziegler. While it was true that she didn't have a choice, Amélie also felt like this was the kind of thing you should tell the person who was risking her life to bust your ass out of trouble. She grabbed Mercy by the shoulders and shook her roughly. " _P_ _ute,_ I didn't get so far only so you can fall victim to your own crazy technology!" Widowmaker hissed. "You don't get to keep things like that to yourself, understood? Spill it now! What can we do so you don't take a dirt nap while we make a run for it?"

"It's fine. Don't worry. I still have a few hours. I will need to synch with my staff soon. It will take care of the error and restructure the malfunctioning probes." Mercy replied, slightly intimidated by Widow, who was holding her in a tight grip. Maybe she really should have told her sooner.

"Great!" Widow rolled her eyes "A few hours. Just great, Mercy. I don't know if you have noticed, but we are in the middle of Russia! Your staff isn't magically going to appear once we make it to the port! And we aren't even off this damn deathtrap yet! I am _not_ going to carry a corpse back to your headquarters!"

"I promise you, I will survive this. Once I contact Lena to pick us up, I tell her she has to bring the staff along. A few hours are more than just two." Mercy said firmly, feeling a lot better now that a large portion of rogue probes were out of her system.

Widow rose an eyebrow.

"Lena is the friend I told you about. The pilot."

"I figured as much" Widow shrugged as if she didn't care at all. "So, are you suddenly going to break down or not?"

"No." Mercy replied. "I should be good for a while. Maybe later my body has to get rid of more probes. As long as I don't start to emit the probes through mucosae, pores, or tear ducts, I should be fine."

Widowmaker shook her head. _Great. Just great. In other words, as long as she doesn't start spitting, sweating or crying blood._ "I didn't hear that last part." she decided firmly. "Let's get a move on then. Why not add some time pressure to this as well. It isn't fucked up enough as it is already" she said, the last part more to herself than to Angela, as she led the way again.

"You are nervous, aren't you?" Mercy asked, following Amélie and trying not to seem as shaky as she felt. The exhaustion Angela was feeling didn't really help matters either.

"I don't know how to be nervous." Widow replied coolly, which was a total lie. She had been nervous the whole day. "This is the first time I do something for myself, something which has a certain personal importance, you know? Usually I don't care, but this time, it's different." she explained.

"I understand." Mercy said as she stopped right next to Widow in front of a closed door. "You see-"

"Silence." Widow ordered, and Angela immediately shut her mouth. She had promised to do what Widow said, and she would stay true to her word. "We are here. Once we go through that door, we are topside and will have to be perfectly silent. I don't want to draw attention while we steal a dinghy. We will not speak a word anymore, understood?"

Mercy nodded. For a second, she wondered what they would need a boat for, but then she, of course, remembered that they couldn't just swim to the next shore. God knows how far it was away.

" _Bien_. You turn to your left and walk along the railing until you reach the first dinghy. I will be right behind you. Once we get there I will prepare the boat and you will get on board in the meantime. C _ompris_?"

Mercy nodded again.

"Then, after you, _mon général_." Widow said, opening the door for Mercy and waiting for her to step through.

The first thing Angela noticed when she walked outside was the pitch black night sea which greeted her with the distinct salty, slightly fishy smell of an ocean accompanied by a relentless ice cold wind. The moon was shining rather brightly, reflecting in the dark waters. It created a beautifully dancing bright dot surrounded by black water. Mercy did as Widow told her and turned to her left following the railing. Under normal circumstances, she would have taken a moment to behold the beauty of nature which lay before her. But nothing about her current situation was anywhere near normal.

The harsh wind was almost painfully cold, and right about now Angela was _extremely_ thankful for the long leather coat Widowmaker had procured for her. Mercy shuddered at the thought of not having a coat right now as she turned up her collar to block out the relentless wind some more. Heavens, she felt like freezing to death otherwise. Which made Angela wonder: how exactly didn't Widow turn into a frozen statue with that little skin-tight nothing she was wearing?

Mercy didn't get to think about an answer for that question as she reached the dinghy Widow had been talking about. It was held by two large metal cranes which would lift the boat above the water and slowly lower it down to the surface once they were needed. As instructed, she waited right next to the small ship. A few moments later, the blue-skinned woman walked past her, heading straight for a small console in front of one of crane's arms, apparently to activate the procedure, which would land the boat on water.

Luckily there was no one about to be seen, and the area around the small boat was occupied by different cargo-boxes providing rather good protection from prying eyes.

Moving to climb onboard of what seemed to be a tiny speedboat, Mercy felt a strange kind of shiver run down her spine. It wasn't from the ice cold wind.

It was something else. Like a gush of wind that should not have been there. It was a gentle waft and the sudden smell of gunpowder.

They weren't as alone as Angela thought they were.

All Mercy saw before strong arms grabbed her was a cloud of black smoke drift past. She gasped loudly and wanted to scream, but someone roughly pressed a napkin to her face. It smelled of chemicals.

The last thing Mercy saw was how Widowmaker spun around with a startled expression on her face. An expression that quickly turned into rage.

"You!" her French savior hissed glaring at the person holding Mercy in a tight headlock.

Angela tired not to breath, reaching inside her coat for the gun Widowmaker gave her. Mercy's fingers were numb from the cold, but she felt the hard metal slide into her hand. The pressure on her lungs was getting painful as she drew the pistol from her coat. Mercy tried to somehow turn it against the person holding her, but whoever was holding her hostage suddenly punched her in the sides. She gasped as the same clawed hand smacked the pistol out of her fingers and over board. The blow to her sides caused Mercy to involuntarily take a deep breath.

The sharp stench of chemicals filled her nostrils.

_Chloroform._

And Mercy's world turned dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Pute = (French) Bitch
> 
>  
> 
> If you want to support the story, you can leave me some kudos or a comment. If you ant to fund my next coffee, thus fueling my fingers, you can! Right here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction


	20. Unexpected

"You!" Widowmaker hissed as she was made aware of the presence of someone who should _not_ have been here. She spun around and away from the console she was currently hammering commands into, and saw how Mercy was grabbed into a tight headlock by no other than Reaper.

He was pressing a napkin to Angela's face, her body going limp.

Widow made a step forward, but Reaper materialized one of his shotguns into his hand and pressed it to Mercy's temple.

"Uh, uh, uh!" He admonished, causing Widowmaker to freeze in place, staring deadly daggers at Reaper.

She couldn't believe her own two eyes. This wasn't seriously happening. Not _now_ of all the times. Two minutes more and they would have been gone. They would have gotten away.

But it all had to go wrong in the last two minutes. Widow knew now why she had that unpleasant feeling of being watched. It was simply because someone _was_ watching her. Now only two questions remained: How long had he been watching and why?

"What are you doing here, _la Faucheuse_?" she hissed, her body tensing up to spring into action in an instant, should the need arise.

God, Widow scolded herself internally; she had been too sloppy. She should have paid more attention to Mercy. She should have told her to stand in the corner of the cargo boxes where no one would have seen her and where no one could have snuck up on her from behind.

She should have carried her rifle with her and not stored it in the bag. If she could have had it handy now, Amélie was positive she could blow a hole in Reaper's head before he could even _think_ about pulling the trigger.

But she did neither of those things.

And now Angela Ziegler was held hostage by Reaper. A few moments away from their safe escape, Widows plan turned to ash. Maybe this was fixable. Maybe she could talk him out of it. But then again, who was she kidding here? It just had to be _Reaper_. Anyone else she could have intimidated enough to fuck off. But not _him._ What was he even doing here? He was supposed to be on the other end of the world.

"Why are you even on board? You shouldn't be here!" she snarled aggressively.

"Of course you would have checked that" Reaper replied with a low voice but didn't sound mad at her "You should know that this is one of the advantages of being with _Dark Wing_ " he chuckled. "We get to show up wherever we want."

"As if I ever got to go anywhere because I wanted to." she remarked. "You know that, too"

"True" Reaper replied in something which was as close to a sigh as he could probably get. "Listen, little spider, we have to talk" he said.

Widow couldn't help but let a pissed off laugh get over lips "I'm all ears, _la Faucheuse_." she gestured toward Mercy. There was really no point in denying this. For a fleeting moment she had considered barking at him and making stuff up about official orders, but it would have never worked. First of all, Reaper wasn't stupid. He probably knew already which orders Widowmaker did or didn't have; namely none as of now. And second, she didn't even know what he wanted yet. Amélie just knew that he wanted _something._ Reaper always wanted something, otherwise he wouldn't do anything. It was the one thing that made him predictable to a certain degree. There was always some kind of ulterior motive behind his actions. Though what that motive was, no one knew.

"You are making a run for it, aren't you? You want to get out, is that right?" Reaper asked with a seriousness Amélie had never heard from him before. She would be lying if she said she wasn't afraid.

Because she was.

Reaper was one of the few _individuals_ she was scared of, simply because he was dangerous. Very, very dangerous. He didn't lack the matching cruelty whatsoever.

"What do you care?" Widow replied sternly. She didn't like this. He knew something. More than he let on. Probably much more. Her body was tense, each fiber of her muscles clenching together as she tried to figure out what to do. Giving him a definite answer would feel like signing a death sentence.

"That's not your business now. Let me try again" he adjusted his vice-like grip on Mercy, making Widowmaker aware yet again that he still had a loaded shotgun pressed to her face. "You rigged the fuel valves with more plastic explosive than you'd need to level a skyscraper. You killed our superior, General Azarova, a loss I am not going to mourn, and you freed this little cunt before you killed Montgomery. So, I ask again: Are you trying to leave Talon?"

Amélie had to concentrate so her expression wouldn't betray how freaked out she was at the moment. She had _not_ expected that Reaper would know this much about the things she did. But if he knew, then why didn't he stop her sooner? What was going on here? What did that man want? And how did he find out? Did he know everything from the beginning?

"How do you know all that?" She wanted to know, concentrating to make her voice seem like she wasn't as shaken up as she was felt like.

"Don't take me for an idiot, little spider" Reaper growled "Answer the question."

Widow felt her stomach tie the umpteenth knot into itself while she was rapidly running out of options. She hated that feeling of not having a choice. It was what her whole life looked like. She never got do decide anything, not even for herself. Other people always did that for her, and usually not with her best interest in mind. They all wanted to control her.

Everyone.

Except for one Lena Oxton.

It was so painful to think about that now while being so close to getting away; so close to going back to her and being able to give her what she wanted. Amélie would stay with her as long as Lena wanted her to. They wouldn't have to worry about Talon anymore. And the key to all this was no two meters away from Amélie now. Two meters which felt like infinity.

What could she really do? Reaper knew everything. He knew about the explosives. He knew what she did to Azarova. Hell, there was no point in even _trying_ to deceive him somehow.

"Yes!" She hissed "I was running away, ok? I did everything you just said and it would have worked if not for you. I should be thankful that you prevented the last scheduled memory reset, or this would not have happened." Widow tried to keep her voice down, but she managed to somehow yell silently, the sour lump in her throat tighter than she wanted to admit. Did she come so far all for naught? "Tell me, did this all go according to your plan? Do you have me right where you want me? What do you want in the first place?"

"Suddenly she remembers the reset again" Reaper chuckled "Who would have thought?"

"If you think you can drag me back in there and put me in some machine again, then forget it. Nowhere in hell am I going to do that again. And I don't care that you hold a hostage. We both die here, or we both leave. I will not allow anyone to lay another finger on her. I will not allow her to be turned into what I became! So tell me what you want so we can get this over with!"

Reaper said nothing for a moment, carefully considering his next move. He had never seen Widow emotional at all. Not one bit. She was always a cruel, cold hearted bitch and a part of him always reminded himself to be careful around her. She was dangerous. A lot more dangerous than she probably knew. Definitely more dangerous than he was. He was brutal and straight forward, a battering ram, achieving his goals with sheer violence.

Widowmaker wasn't. She was his exact opposite: a precision tool who needed exactly one moment and one shot to end it. He ripped things apart. She left a clean, cold, and emotionless cut. One could hear him coming. She was silent. One knew when Reaper was out to get someone. With her, the light just ceased to exist from one innocent moment to the next.

And now this emotionless killer, this absolutely ruthless assassin was starting to break apart. She hid it well, but he could see it. Smell it. Feel it. For a long time he had an eye on her, the fine nuances of her mimic and gestures weren't los on him. He could see how scared she was underneath all that seething rage. Rage covered up by a stoic face. But it still burned so vividly in her golden eyes. Her glare was almost painful.

Reaper knew that if he wanted to get what he came for, he would have to defuse the situation. This didn't go into the direction he wanted it to at all. Maybe he should have taken a different approach. He should have considered that the goals of this escape meant more to Widow than he might anticipate.

He knew about her goals. At least the few things Morrison told him. About her and Tracer. Then again, Morrison just told him that Widow and Tracer were _probably_ close.

That could have meant a lot. He and Soldier were close as well, but they were brothers in arms. It didn't mean they ever felt the urge of hopping into bed with each other. The emotions boiling so violently in Widowmaker that they made her eyes glow brightly and her hands shake slightly spoke volumes though. Then again, she had also kissed Mercy. So, who knew? It wasn't like Reaper cared who it was Widowmaker wanted to see so badly that she decided on the risk of betraying Talon was worth it.

All that mattered to him was, that there was such a person. Someone who drove Widow away from Talon.

It was important because it meant he and Morrison achieved what they set out to accomplish. It took them long enough and more setbacks than Reaper wanted to admit. The poor bloke he encouraged to talk with Widow and who got his neck snapped by her being the most critical in a row of failures.

They were so close now. Reaper couldn't allow another setback. She needed to calm down. And she needed to listen to him. It wasn't like he didn't understand why she was upset.

"None of that will happen." he said sternly, causing Widow's face to drop. _What?!_ "I have no intention of holding you here. In fact, I'd prefer it if you go." Reaper surprised Widow completely when he let go of Mercy and leaned her against the railing next to him. He _did,_ however, keep his shotgun pointed at her, just for good measure.

Widow couldn't honestly say that she understood what was going on. Was she stuck in the wrong movie here? It sure felt like it.

"You aren't making _any_ sense, _la Faucheuse_. What do you want?" she asked, suspicious about the entire situation. Her mind was working extra shifts to figure out what the hell was happening. Reaper, yes _the_ Reaper, prevented them from escaping, sedated Mercy, and held her hostage, just to reveal now that he wanted _her_ to escape. Wait. _Her?_

"You don't get Mercy either" Amélie hissed.

"I heard you the first time" Reaper replied, briefly looking at the blonde woman who was peacefully leaning on the railing as if she were asleep.

"I hate that bitch" he growled lowly "And I really _want_ to kill her. But I will not." he said.

"You hate almost everyone. And you like to kill almost everyone. Would you kindly tell me what you want now? If you want us to go, then why stop us? Just let us be!"

"It's not that easy and you know it, Widowmaker" Reaper replied with a shrug "Listen: I need you. And the only reason I stop you now is because you were stupid enough to forget the last favor you owed me and chose to ignore the second. So, here I am now."

"You aren't seriously still going on about that favor I owe you."

"I am not kidding about this, Widow." Reaper growled. "And this is the last chance you get. Because I am sure as hell not going to go otherwise."

"I really don't trust you." Widow narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

Reaper laughed to himself "I can't blame you. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I am not your enemy, little spider. I do this-" he wiggled his shotgun a bit to indicate he was talking about holding an unconscious Mercy hostage, at least more or less at this point. "Because I need your help. Not because I want to screw you over. I even drugged her so you can make up some story later of what happened, I don't care."

"Ok." Widow started reluctantly. "Let's just assume for a moment you get the favor you want. What would that exactly be?" Widow wanted to know. It wasn't like she had a lot of options here. So far Reaper had been surprisingly civil. But she had absolutely no doubts that he would kill both her and Mercy if he didn't get what he came for. Besides, he did prevent the last scheduled memory reset. So, in a way, Amélie was only able to get to the point she was now because of him. Otherwise, she might have never considered Tracer in any way. She wouldn't have been distracted in the following job. She wouldn't have been shot, and she wouldn't have ended up in Tracer's bed.

Also, he knew about Amélie's plan to blow the freighter and the tanker to hell and back, buthe didn't appear to be inclined to prevent this in any way... which was strange.

"One day, Widow, I will play a name into your hands," Reaper grumbled "And you will find and kill that person. You will tell no one. You will leave what you do in that moment, and you will dispose of whoever it is I tell you then." Reaper said, not liking the expression on Widowmaker's face. She looked like she calculated her chances of rushing him now and how successful she'd probably be in shooting him with his own shotgun before he could turn Mercy into Swiss cheese. Considering how fast and nimble Widow usually was, she could probably pull it off.

That must not happen.

This was the crucial part for all their plans.

He needed a skilled freelancing assassin -neither tied to Talon nor Overwatch, or any other organization- he could trust. And those were not exactly easy to come by. So, he had to create one. Or better yet, _they_ needed to create one. It was Morrison's little push in the right direction which eventually led to this result after all.

Had Soldier not sent Tracer to deal with Widow... But that was a thought for another time. Though Tracer was a good cue. There was something he _could_ say to make Widow more inclined to agree. "I, however, can reassure you that the target will most likely be no one you would care about, if that helps your decision."

There wasn't really a lot more he could tell her even if he wanted to. Just dropping Tracer's name would probably ruin more of his and Morrison's work than it would do good. But they _really_ needed that one favor. That one free kill. That one, single, untraceable execution. Their endgame. They needed the best sniper in the world for this part. It was completely dependent on Widowmaker. But he couldn't tell her that for obvious reasons. He couldn't just risk that they'd be able to convince her later on either. It had to be done now.

Widow didn't quite believe her ears "You want me to do a _job_?" she asked, flabbergasted. "Something you could have _ordered_ me to do yesterday? Why?"

"I told you already, Widowmaker. I am not Talon. Never was. Never will be. Our-"

"Goals align at the moment. Yes. I feel like I heard that before somewhere" Widow snorted.

"Precisely." Reaper grumbled "So? What's it going to be? Decision time, little spider."

Widowmaker didn't like this. She didn't like this one bit. He was playing with her; Amélie could feel it. But Reaper always played games. Nothing he did usually made sense at first glance. His mind worked in complicated ways. However, he did sound serious about this.

And he still got a shotgun pointed at Mercy.

"Just so we understand each other." Widow said rather aggressively "You let me go. You let Mercy go. And one day I will kill someone you want dead? And that's it. This entire commotion is only for that?"

"It is" Reaper replied. Widow pondered this for a moment. Seriously speaking, what did she have to lose here? It wasn't like she had much of a choice anyway, and she still got to do what she wanted. He let them go where he could have just as easily shot Angela in the face, dragged Amélie back into the ship, and strapped her to the next reconditioning-unit where one of Talon's torturer would reset her mind completely.

"So be it, _la Faucheuse_." she nodded. "You get your favor. One kill. Nothing more and nothing less. One. Life. No questions asked."

"Good" Reaper growled, his shotgun vanishing in his hand before he held it to Widowmaker for her to shake. She was cocking an eyebrow, because she didn't expect him to confirm their deal with a handshake. Contrary to what people might think, Widowmaker was an honest person. She didn't usually lie, and she also usually did what she promised... should she remember it. Normally, Widow just avoided making promises to anybody.

A little bit reluctantly, Widow reached out and shook Reaper's gloved hand. Her slender fingers vanished in his large, strong hand and she was actually a bit surprised that she got her hand back in one piece.

"One more thing" Reaper spoke up, and Widow glared at him warningly. He ignored it "Do you have your infrared sights with you?" he wanted to know.

Amélie nodded hesitatingly, again not sure what he wanted with them. Reaper held a hand out to her, waving his fingers to indicate she should pass them over.

For a moment, Widowmaker didn't move, just staring at the arrogant bastard that was Reaper, but she eventually did crouch down, quickly retrieving her visor from the bag, and passed it to the black clad man.

He took the piece and tossed it over board without any hesitation. Widow's jaw dropped, but before she could ask anything, he provided an explanation "Cutting the tracker out of your neck was good. But it won't do you any good if you take another tracker with you. _Now_ you can fake your own death" he chuckled.

"Whatever" Widow huffed, as Reaper turned to leave. Widow quickly rushed to Mercy's side to check if she was alright.

"Oh, and Widow?" Reaper said, turning one final time. He saw the deadly assassin kneeling next to Mercy and couldn't help but think that they'd make an adorable couple even though he despised the doctor with unparalleled passion. "Do stay true to your word this time. I don't care what you do with your new life, and I won't check either, but if I give you that name, and you don't act, I will make you regret it. _Compris?_ "

Amélie kind of wanted to punch him now. She really wanted to. He always had to get his way.

" _Oui, oui_. You get your free kill"

"That is good to hear. I will leave now, my shuttle is already waiting. So hit that detonator whenever you want and blow it all to hell. I don't care. Enjoy your new life." he said, maybe a tiny bit mocking her, before he vanished in a dark cloud of smoke.

Amélie returned her attention to an unconscious Mercy right in front of her. She quickly checked Angela's pulse. Luckily, it was there, strong and steady beating against Amélie's cold fingers on Angela's neck. She was alive, which was good news. Widow picked the blonde woman up from the floor and swung her over her shoulder before she activated the initiation sequence of the dinghy, grabbed her bag, and boarded the small speedboat.

Moments later, they touched the ocean surface and Widowmaker fired up the engines, quickly bringing some distance between her and the intimidating, large Talon freighter.

Mercy was lying on a hard metal bench, her legs hanging to the floor and her arms folded across her chest. Widowmaker had just dropped her there along with the bag before she quickly turned the speedboat to make a beeline for Diskon. With every mile they got closer to the city and further away from Talon, Amélie felt herself being able to breathe more and more freely. There was a certain weight lifted off her shoulders even though she knew it was hardly over yet. They still had to get out of Diskon. Somehow. And Mercy's condition wasn't getting better either.

Widowmaker would have lied if she said she wasn't worried about the doctor. She might have acted like she didn't really care, but a part of her _did_ care. Angela Ziegler was a nice person. A good person. She didn't deserve to die because of what happened to her. Amélie enabled the autopilot of the speedboat and walked over to Mercy. Lifting her head up into her lap, she quickly checked her neck. Her artery was starting to turn black again. _Not good._

The doctor started stirring in her involuntary sleep.

"Mercy" she gently said, stroking over her cheek. "Wake up, Mercy"

It took Widow some minutes to get Angela awake, but luckily the concentration of chloroform Reaper used apparently wasn't too high, and she managed to not inhale that stuff too deeply. Her eyes fluttered open, a full purple glow peering at Widow. Angela's body immediately tensed up as if she had awoken from a horrible nightmare... which she had in a way.

"It's fine. We got out. You are safe. We are on the way to Diskon. Everything is good." Amélie said and tried to give the doctor a reassuring smile. Mercy blinked, shaking her head and sitting up. The purple glow was gone by the time she closed her lids for a third time.

"What happened?" Mercy asked, taking in her surroundings. She felt groggy and hung over. In other words, simply horrible. It took her quite some effort to actually sit up and for a while she wasn't sure if she could even do that. She had to lean on Widowmaker for support, but the longer Mercy tried, the better she felt. Her strength was slowly returning into her arching bones.

"Walked right into a trap" Widowmaker stated, as if it would explain everything. She indeed was glad that Reaper had drugged Mercy. It would have been difficult to explain what happened otherwise. Well, maybe not the explaining part of what happened, but the explaining of why she agreed to the favor. It would surely upset the doctor. "I took care of it. We are fine"

"Oh, God! Did you-?"

"Kill the lowlife who held you hostage? Yes." Widow lied. She didn't necessarily like the idea of lying to Mercy, but what else chould she have done? It wasn't like she could have told her that she now had a deal with Reaper. That would have surely not worked in her favor.

What was she supposed to say? _I made a deal with Reaper. He told me to kill someone when the time has come. I don't know who it is though. Could be you. Could be Tracer. Could be anyone._

Stupid. Then again, Reaper told her the target would be no one she'd miss. But this could have been a lie, too. No. It was best if Widow kept it all to herself. Besides, there were really only two people as of now she wouldn't have killed. And one was in the same boat with her.

"How are you?" Widowmaker asked, successfully attempting to change the topic of their conversation. She must have had a worried expression on her face, because Mercy's eyebrow twitched slightly.

Angela looked at the person who had risked her life to get a complete stranger to safety for a moment. She could tell that Widowmaker was treading on completely new grounds now. She was just as lost as Mercy. With the difference that Mercy was leaving the unknown and was brought back into her own world while Widowmaker had just defied her former masters and was now running away into the unknown. She could somehow sympathize with the blue-skinned woman.

"I'll survive" she tried to smile at Amélie who just shook her head. There, of course, was still the horribly real possibility that Mercy's nanoprobes would go completely rambo any moment. And that would not be healthy for the bearer.

"Widowmaker?" Mercy asked, leaning slightly into the woman sitting next to her, their shoulders touching just a little bit.

"Amélie" Widow corrected. She stared through the naked metal wall opposite to her. The interior of the speedboat was meant for around twenty sailors. But now there were only two. The damn thing felt like a metal coffin racing over the water to its grave. Maybe that was overly melodramatic, but Widowmaker still looked very much forward to the moment when she got to set foot on land again. Luckily, the speedboat was designed to hydroplane, so the ride over the waves was a rather smooth one.

"Sorry?" Angela asked, blinking confused.

"My name" The French woman explained. "Widowmaker is ... was someone else. It's a call sign, not an identity I ever wanted or chose. It's Amélie." _The identity Lena gave me back. The person I want to be for her sake._

And suddenly, the feared assassin became human.

"Oh." Mercy nodded sadly, feeling the weight of Widow's inner struggle all the way over to her. This must have been so difficult for her. "I understand," she said, even if she could only imagine how it must feel to be her. "Well, I just wanted to tell you that... that I will never forget what you did today. For me. I really owe you... Amélie."

" _Oui._ " Widow replied with a jesting smirk, shaking the sentimental feeling off her face. It wasn't a side of her she wanted to show around Mercy. It was bad enough the doctor caught a glimpse of it. Maybe she was cruel to Angela, but Amélie couldn't help it. She only felt comfortable around Lena like this. For some reason it was so easy to be around her; to open up to her. But Widowmaker withheld a lot of things from even Lena. Things she felt were too much for the lively Brit. Things she did tell Mercy. It was a strange feeling. She would have to talk to Tracer soon. "You do owe me quite a bit. Just remember how much when your people want to put me in front of a firing squad, ok?"

"I won't allow that. I will do everything so that you can stay at the Watchpoint with as much freedom as possible." Mercy stated with overwhelming sincerity, reaching out to give Widow's hand a reassuring squeeze. Amélie flinched slightly at the contact of her warm touch. It reminded her a lot of Lena. She missed her so badly, it almost hurt inside. "I promise," Mercy added before falling silent for a while. No one of the two women spoke before it was yet again Angela who decided to say something more.

"You know, to be honest, you aren't how I imagined you at all"

"Funny" Widow replied with a cold laugh. She was far, far away with her mind; Mercy could tell.

"How is that funny?"

"Because I wanted to say the same thing about you just now." Widow stated, and Angela couldn't help but feel her eyebrow rise up.

"And what exactly did you or did you not expect about me?"

Widowmaker almost said that she isn't the way Tracer described her. At least, not everything. The side Lena told her about was definitely there. There was just... something else as well. "Your name doesn't really suit you." Amélie explained "Mercy. That implies a certain compassion. But you beat Montgomery senseless and I bet you'd have actually skinned the man alive if I hadn't shown up."

Mercy fell silent yet again, her head sinking to the ground, as if she was struggling to admit an undeniable reality to herself.

" _Ja_ " Angela said sadly. It almost sounded like a confession "I know." She hesitated for a moment, contemplating if she should continue, but her mouth already started talking again "Not a lot of people know about this side of me. It's my best kept secret." Mercy groaned uncomfortably, rubbing a hand over her tired eyes. " _Herrgott,_ I don't even know why I am telling you this" she said, more to herself than to Widow. The blue-skinned woman still nodded thoughtfully.

"You should know what stress and adrenaline does. There is a very good reason why soldiers refer to each other as brothers. Once the bullets fly over your heads, you quickly bond with the guy next to you. He might be the last face you see before you die" Widow shrugged. It wasn't like she hadn't seen this happen before. Especially during more complex operations, when Talon sent her as fire support for larger forces of infantry. Soldiers were always talking about everything. Amélie just never cared. She never listened either. People died, some sooner, some later. It was her whole business. They never understood that.

Also, she was rationalizing. But Widow wouldn't acknowledge that. She was rationalizing why she had told Angela so much of her 'private' life with Talon, blaming stress and adrenaline. The truth was, she had to tell someone. Someone who wasn't Tracer. Someone who wouldn't worry about it. It was the past. It couldn't be changed. Lena was helping so much as it was, she didn't need to worry even more.

Telling Mercy helped. Somehow.

Though Amélie would never admit it, she grew to like Mercy. In the short time they spent together she had proven herself strong and dependable. And not once had she judged Widow in any way. Maybe at the beginning, but that was to be expected. Yet the longer they spent time together the more Widow found herself wanting to look out for Mercy. Not because she had ulterior motives, but also for Angela's sake. When Angela collapsed in the freighter, vomiting into the corner of the mezzanine, Amélie was genuinely worried. She was worried and mad at her, because she wanted Mercy to be fine. She didn't understand why that was.

"I suppose you are right" Angela agreed silently. "So far you have been very good to me, Amélie"

"Hey, don't forget the reason for all of this" Widow said, and Mercy just nodded like it didn't really matter. And maybe it really didn't matter at all.

Angela took a deep breath before she suddenly continued. She decided to just tell Amélie now. It wasn't like she hadn't seen what happened to Mercy first hand. There was no point denying it. An explanation wouldn't hurt anyone. "What you saw on the freighter was... well, something I am not proud of. Ever since my parents died when I was a little girl, I had this-" Mercy paused, searching for the right word to use without sounding stupidly dramatic "-This other half of me. I can't control it. Sometimes it just... kind of shows up, you know? I am so ashamed of it... but... but I just hate people hurting other people without any apparent reason. Without any need for it. It reminds me so much of my parents being butchered in the chaos of the first Omnic war. I hate the feeling it gives me. I hate the memories that it wakes up. I can't stand seeing it."

Mercy inhaled sharply "So I try to help wherever I can, but sometimes... Well, sometimes I am too late or I make a mistake. Or someone interfered with my work. It makes me so sick. I... get so angry, and then..." Angela trailed off into silence. The way she felt the last couple of hours was not new, but it was certainly a feeling that hadn't paid her a visit in quite a long time. She didn't want to tell Widowmaker that she couldn't feel empathy anymore when it happened. She didn't want her to know that the feeling she got whenever her other side took command was one of almost infinite power, blessed with the capability to decide over life and death. She didn't want her to see what it turned her into. And when it disappeared again, it left the real Mercy as a confused and emotional mess; like the one Amélie had to deal with after Montgomery had been killed. Mercy was just glad that Widow didn't walk in on her a few minutes prior, when her other half still had the full control of her. She would have torn Montgomery to shreds. She _hated_ that man. She still does after his demise.

"Yet, you don't hate me" Widow stated. It was painfully obvious. They were getting along quite a lot better than either one of them had expected. Amélie found the doctor's presence almost comfortable, and hoped that this was alright. Was it ok for her to feel at ease around someone who wasn't Lena? Was this the friendship thing Lena had been talking about? Amélie didn't know; she never had a friend. Was this supposed to be this way? Lena would know that. She'd have to ask her about it... and maybe tell her about the kiss... It wasn't like Widow meant anything with it, but Lena still deserved to know. Amélie felt like there wasn't an awful lot she could give the bubbly Brit anyway, so total honesty would have to do.

"I won't lie to you. I did. I really did. Do you have any idea how many people I had sent to me where I could do nothing else but sign the death certificate, because of you? My resurrection doesn't work on holes in heads as big as an apple. I hated you with a passion" Mercy said, not looking at her companion. She just stared ahead with a blank expression on her face like the blank metal wall opposite to them suddenly became the most intriguing thing in the world. "I thought you were a cruel, cold hearted bitch who gets a kick out of killing innocent people. I thought you were crazy." Angela gently shook her head no "But now, after all you've told me? After all I've seen? What I have been through myself? I can't bring myself to hate you. How could I?" Angela asked. She actually began to wonder who was really saving whom here. Maybe they were saving each other.

Widowmaker actually laughed this time. What a sob-story. She was just fucked up. There was no point in discussing this side of her. "You do realize that what you said is true? I _do_ like killing. It makes me feel alive. I love the recoil of my rifle against my shoulder, and there is only one thing I love more than taking a life. I am just like you said, Mercy. Killing gives me a kick."

" _Nein._ " Mercy shook her head "You don't convince me of that. You try to seem cold and distant, like you don't care, but you do care. In the last couple of hours you were worried about me. Genuinely worried. Don't think I missed that." Mercy took a moment to peer deeply into Widow's cold, golden eyes, a part of her happy that this mask of indifference was melting away at least a little bit. "Amélie, you didn't choose to be like this. You didn't choose any of this. You said it yourself: they enhanced the traits which made us great hunters in the past. They _made_ you like killing, and I don't even want to know what they did to give you that kick each time you pull the trigger. Because I am sure once I open that file of yours," Mercy pointed at the bag sitting next to her, "That I'll find at least three different psychoactive substances used for basic conditioning. I'd take any bet. It's all Talon's fault. Not yours."

 _'They did this to you. It's not your fault, Amélie. I am here for you. Everything will be alright again. You mean so much to me, luv. I promise I'll keep you safe. They won't ever hurt you again.'_ Tracer's voice was whispering into Widow's ear as she stared blankly into the nothingness in front of her. Amélie might have been asleep while Lena said those things, but she still remembered them. She had been crying when she held Widow the entire night. Crying for _Amélie's_ sake. Lena's words always held such a powerful peace within them. It calmed Widow down.

A loud beep from the steering-unit pulled Widow back to reality. Right. There was a much more pressing task at hand.

"Maybe you are correct" she said plainly, and ended their conversation while standing up and hurrying over to the steering wheel. All the time Mercy and Widow had been talking, the speedboat brought them closer to Diskon just like its autopilot was programmed to do.

Amélie pressed a few buttons and manipulated some levers before she took hold of the steering wheel. Slowing the boat down considerably, she used the last bit of speed to glide closer to the frozen coast-line using the night vision monitors of the dinghy to know where she maneuvered to. Widow had to pay attention so she wouldn't get too close to the coast and cause the boat to go aground. It needed to maneuver itself out to the open sea after they dismounted their ride.

"Open the bag I brought along and give me one of the light yellow packs and one of the chips next to them." Widow instructed, before Mercy began digging through the bag's contents. A moment later she tossed Widow the requested items, who then placed the yellow pack on the dashboard and stuck the chip inside the clay-like substance.

"What are you doing?" Mercy asked curiously, walking up to Widow and peeking over her shoulder. The assassin seemed to synch the chip she stuck into the clay with an olive green device. Afterward, both tech-thingies made a silent beep, apparently indicating proper functionality.

"Well, you see, the freighter we were on is about to suffer a horrible accident while refueling. And it would be strange if they found a completely intact dinghy, wouldn't it?" Amélie explained, hammering commands into the autopilot yet again. The console beeped loudly, confirming Widowmaker's instructions.

"Alright. Give me the bag and come with me" Widow instructed as Mercy handed her the black sports bag. She followed the assassin outside of the squat vessel, while Amélie slung the pouch across her shoulders.

"Come here" she instructed, and yet again, Mercy did as she was told and stepped up to Widowmaker. She had no idea what was happening when suddenly the French beauty grabbed her and lifted her up bridal style. Mercy couldn't help but yelp in surprise.

"Quiet!" Widow admonished, moving to the corner of the boat. She really didn't want anyone to hear a woman scream from somewhere in the sea.

"Give me a heads up next time!" Mercy complained, wrapping her arms tightly around Widow's neck. The slender woman definitely was a lot stronger than she seemed, apparently easily capable of carrying Angela around.

"There won't be a next time" Widow stated matter-of-factly, peering off the corner of the ship into the water. She slightly adjusted Mercy in her arms into a more comfortable position.

"I can walk just fine, thank you."

Widowmaker didn't reply as she jumped down into the ice water. Her knee high boots vanishing inside the jet black liquid. "Yes, you can walk now" she stated "But your feet would freeze off in a matter of minutes. I surely don't need to tell this to you, doctor" Widow explained, steadily walking toward the shore. The boat they came on suddenly awoke back to life with a deep roar of its twin engines and quickly spun around, piloting itself out to the open sea.

"Same applies for you, Widowmaker" Mercy snapped. "What are you thinking! You can't-"

"My boots are waterproof. I am in no danger." Widow stated, almost stumbling over a rock, but easily regaining her balance again. Mercy held on to Amélie tight, her muscles tensing up because of the swift feeling of falling. There was a quick smirk spreading on Widow's lips for a moment.

"Don't tell me you enjoy being carried like this" Amélie teased with a dry remark. She needed to talk about something; anything really. The closer she got to shore the more her slow heart started fluttering, knowing that each step toward the shore would bring her closer to Tracer. Closer to the love she yearned for so badly. She needed to take her mind off this idea. It was distracting her too much. This wasn't over yet. Thus, she resorted to teasing Mercy a little bit.

Mercy couldn't do more than make gasping noises as she tried to come up with a witty reply for the sudden teasing. Usually only Tracer pushed those kinds of buttons on her; Mercy wasn't prepared for this. It wasn't fair.

"Oh, so you do enjoy it. Being carried to safety, that is. How curious." Widow chuckled almost a little bit cutely, but definitely still with clear intent of winding Mercy up. There was nothing she could have done against it in this moment either. It wasn't like Angela could have just walked away, seeing how she would fall into ice-cold water if she tried. "And here I thought you were straight." Widow smiled a smile... which quickly froze. That was a mistake. Angela never told her she was straight. Only Tracer did.

"Oh?" Mercy asked, finding her way back to her brainier side "And what makes you think that? I could be falling for you just now, for all you know." Luckily, Angela did completely miss the implications of Widow actually _knowing_ and not just _guessing_ her preferences. To her, the blue beauty merely _assumed_.

"You weren't kissing me like you were falling for me" Widow shot back, relieved that her little slip was left unnoticed. This was good. It was meaningless and silly. They both needed to vent some stress over completely pointless shit. And the mood was getting lighter, which was a welcome change of the otherwise heavy atmosphere.

"Ah, I believe you were the one who kissed me. You even fondled my breast. Rather aggressive for a first date, wouldn't you say? Are you maybe the one falling for me, Widowmaker? You know, I wouldn't judge you. My best friend is a lesbian."

Widow chocked back the 'I know' which was already forming in the back of her throat and instead went for something a little different.

"And what if I were?" she grinned and cocked an eyebrow. Why the hell did she just say that? They were both filled to the brim with adrenaline. If Mercy got some things mixed up now, Widowmaker would have to do some very awkward explaining. But luckily, the smile on Mercy's face told Amélie otherwise. The doctor understood this was just for fun. Just a game.

Mercy couldn't help but smile. This reminded her so much of Tracer. This kind of winding each other up would be exactly what Lena would have done. It was just how Angela imagined being carried to safety by her best friend. Yet, it wasn't her best friend carrying her, and that made the whole situation even more amusing.

"Ah, I believe I would have to gently let you down. Because, unfortunately, you are quite right about your initial assumption" she laughed, wonderfully lighthearted considering the seriousness of the situation they were still stuck in. "I am perfectly straight. Sorry. You have to give your heart to someone else" As Mercy spoke these words, however, they didn't feel like they were rolling off her tongue as easy as they usually did. She had told Tracer a thousand times, without batting an eye, but now... now the same words felt more difficult to form. She couldn't explain it, and she also didn't want to think about it. But Widow's lips were softer against hers than any male's lips ever were. _Definitely_ softer as the last ones were before Amélie's.

"It already belongs to someone else." Amélie mumbled, not talking to Mercy anymore. Suddenly, the teasing tone was gone, replaced by total seriousness, as Widow carried Mercy ashore, gently letting her down on her feet. Dr. Ziegler slowly slid out of Widowmaker's arms, the snow peacefully scrunching underneath her feet.

"I thought so." Mercy stated. For some reason she _knew._ It was the only logical reason behind everything Widow had done today. It was the only legitimate explanation as to why Amélie had decided to help. Angela might have not realized consciously at first, but it was crystal clear now. So clear, it made her next question basically obsolete. "The same person you don't want to forget, right?"

Widow's reply was just a single nod, her golden eyes peering through the night like two new suns. It made Mercy wonder what type of partner Amélie preferred. Was it a man? Or a woman? Neither of those ideas seemed to fit properly. Widow had kissed her like she had done so to a girl before. Then again, Amélie had been married to a man in the past, too.

"Is he special to you?" Angela wanted to know.

"She" The correction slipped off her tongue without hesitation, and Widow didn't even notice she said it out loud. She couldn't help but smile lovingly when she thought about Tracer "For her, I'd go through this hell all over again"

Mercy listened to the sounds of the waves washing ashore next to them for a moment, taking in the sight of Widowmaker, dimly illuminated by the harbor lights of Diskon not too far away and the weak moonlight. The cold rays of artificial light somehow managed to play softly with Widow's prominent facial features. She looked happy, a warm smile on her cold lips and eyes shining with hope. It was a sight to behold, and a moment made for all eternity. "I understand." Mercy said, and Widowmaker just gestured a silent thank you.

"This way. Let's search for a phone and call your friend" _My friend. My lover. My sunshine. My everything._ "Oh, and..." Widowmaker opened the bag she was carrying, reached inside and handed Mercy an olive green box the size of a mobile phone. It had a small black antenna on top of it, a protective switch on the one side, and an elongated button on the other. Four red LEDs positioned next to each other were glowing on the front.

"Whenever you are ready" Widow said.

"Is this..." Angela stared at the box in her hands. It was a lot heavier than she imagined. Maybe the weight was just in her head. She knew what this little thing would do. The _accident_ Widowmaker had been talking about.

"The firework for today, _oui._ "

With numb and slightly clumsy fingers, Mercy lifted the protective cover off the switch on the side. She had to swallow hard, not denying a certain excitement. The thought of how many people possibly were on both of these ships _did_ cross Mercy's mind, but she couldn't care anymore. Technically, it was murder, but Angela had little doubt that she was indeed removing a large number of very bad people. People who wouldn't hesitate to commit the cruelest atrocities imaginable. She was aware that this was probably a point in her life she'd look back to in a few years and wonder if she made the right call, but right in this moment it seemed like a no-brainer. "You sure you don't want to?"

"Light them up, _petit chou_ " Widow encouraged her, hoping it would bring Mercy some kind of closure. She didn't get to kill Montgomery, after all. Maybe it was better this way; maybe it wasn't. Amélie didn't know.

Mercy flicked the switch, turning the four lights orange before she pressed the button on the side.

The lights turned green with a prominent beep.

A moment of complete silence passed. The ocean was still. There was no wind.

For a second, they passed into a soundless world of ghosts.

And suddenly the horizon lit up bright as daylight, a huge fireball exploding into the night. The moment of complete silence continued, almost like someone muted a movie. There was a mushroom of smoke rising into the air, like someone had nuked the ocean, yet it was only the almost infinite amount of high energy fuel from both the tanker and the freighter. Both ships got vaporized in this instant. And then there was this deep, intimidating rumbling in the distance, like a growl originating from the deepest pits of hell. The beach started vibrating from the echo of the explosion before a loud bang, much like the ones from a supersonic boom, ripped the air over Diskon apart. Mere instants later a shockwave washed over the ocean, ruffling the water surface before hitting the shores with the force of a storm. The waves crashed against the breakwaters, splashing up into the freezing night air a few meters.

Mercy had to grab her combination cap so it wouldn't fly away, but at the same time the winds were pulling on her hair and clothes, she also felt like they also carried away what happened on board the freighter. Like the fires burned away all the evidence of what happened, the sight of the explosion swallowing the heavy burden of what was now the past. It was finally _over._ She felt relieved of a heavy weight. The danger they were in finally no more. It was as though the biggest threat to Angela and Amélie just went up in smoke.

Apparently Mercy was not the only one who felt a certain relief because of the explosion still burning brightly into the night sky, illuminating the darkness in warm orange.

" _De ne jamais voir de nouveau son enculé malade!_ " Widow called out rather loudly over the echoing noise of the explosion thundering over Diskon like the wrath of Zeus. Mercy couldn't help but notice that Widowmaker seemed truly happy for but a brief moment. Then the glowing expression on her face vanished again, as if she remembered that she wasn't done yet. Quickly setting down the bag Widow carried, she shuffled through some of its contents and retrieved another long black coat with a large hood.

"Are you cold?" Mercy asked, confused as to why Widow quickly slipped into the coat.

"N _on._ I am a bit obvious, aren't I? It's so I can blend in." Widow replied, pulling the hood deep in her face and, indeed, covering both her blue skin completely as well as her purple hair. The only thing which still showed was the tip of her index finger and her thumb, both parts not covered by the sniper-gloves she wore. In a certain light, her piercing, cold golden eyes glowed from under the hood as well.

Widow turned around to Mercy and nodded toward the small set of frozen stairs leading up to the harbor "Let's go!"

-/-

* * *

Genji Shimada, wearing a large brown, hooded cloak to conceal his cybernetic body in public, and Jesse McCree, in his usual attire, were standing at a corner in the port of Diskon. They were right at the front entrance where they entered the city before, at the crossroad leading to the hotel they were staying at.

The position Tracer chose to meet up gave them both a perfect overview over the port. They could keep an eye on all entrance routes and roads leading away as well as on the piers itself. The two Overwatch agents waited until Zarya and Tracer returned. They were currently procuring a boat from only God knew were.

Genji re-adjusted the position of the two kitbags they brought along for the thousandth time. He never quite liked how they just sat there, idly, in between him and McCree.

Things were rather boring for the most part.

At least until the horizon suddenly lit up in a bright explosion before, a few moments later, the shockwave hit the port in a large wave, splashing water all over the streets, piers, and adjacent houses. Genji and McCree could barely duck behind the corner, otherwise, they would have been bathed in ice-cold sea water. The roaring thunder of what had to be an explosion of enormous proportions rumbled through the night, making the streets and houses vibrate.

"Report" McCree pressed a finger to his earpiece "What the hell was that?"

Tracer's voice came a moment later than he would have liked "Explosion at sea." she said with questionable emotional stability in her voice: There was the sound of an outboard motor clattering in the background. They apparently already got the boat and were now heading back to the RV-point. "I want an uplink to the satellite immediately. Tell me _exactly_ what exploded and what caused it to blow up. Inform headquarters this instant. I want to know and see _everything._ "

"There is only one logical explanation for an explosion of such magnitude" Genji stated dryly.

"No!" Tracer almost cried into her communicator "I refuse to believe that! We didn't get so far to lose her now! The mission will go on as planned until the reason is confirmed, do you understand me?"

"Listen, kiddo-" McCree started, but was cut off by Zarya over the com. Apparently she felt the urge to step in and, seeing how she was the only one really capable of judging Tracer's reaction properly, that had to mean something.

"There is nothing wrong with continuing until we know something definite. Tracer and I procured a boat. We will all meet up in approximately 10 minutes."

"Athena?" Genji meanwhile asked the AI. "We need to know what happened to the freighter and the tanker at sea in front of Diskon. There was a large explosion at sea. Could you please find that out for us?"

"My seismographic sensors registered the explosion. I am currently analyzing the image-material I got. It looks like a fuel-explosion of unknown reason. The explosion caused some electric interference in the atmosphere. I am currently rebooting the satellites in this sector. I will know more shortly. Please be patient, Mr. Shimada." Athena's emotionless, monotone voice explained calmly. The mere fact that there was an explosion large enough to cause _atmospheric_ disturbances was a very, very bad sign.

"We will. Thank you, Athena" Genji replied, ever the polite one.

"Say, Genji" McCree suddenly started, gazing over the port to the other side. "Realistically we both know that the freighter got blown up. Probably together with that tanker, right? I mean, unless someone chose to nuke the ocean for no apparent reason, they were the only two ships around here for miles large enough to justify such a violent explosion, no?"

"That is correct" Genji replied, not knowing what his comrade was getting at, but willing to wait and see.

"And we also know that Angie was abducted by Talon who brought her on board that freighter. So, it would be a safe bet to say they are probably the ones running the damn thing, yes? They brought her on board one of their swimming operation bases."

"That certainly would be an assumption of reasonable nature."

"Then don't you find it at least a bit odd that there is a Talon Brigadier General, if my eyes don't lie to me, walking down the port here with that shady dude right next to her?" McCree asked in an almost hilariously dry way while he subtly pointed his cigar in the approximate direction. He didn't move otherwise, so he would just seem like a random cowboy; maybe an America obsessed Russian, in the middle of Diskon. Genji turned his head ever so slightly and quickly spotted both individuals walking down the port like they were hiding something. For a moment the general seemed familiar, with her blonde hair and striking blue eyes, yet, how she walked close to the shadow next to her seemed foreign. The hooded figure moved carefully, but with determination. Whoever was hiding behind that coat was _dangerous._ So much was obvious from the body language of the shadow next to the General. It seemed almost like the cloaked figure was some kind of protector.

"That _does_ seem rather peculiar to me, I have to agree. High ranking officers are rarely seen in public like this."

"Right?" McCree nodded, grabbing his peacemaker revolver without drawing it. "I guess I am going to talk to the lady. Politely ask her if she knows anything about Angie."

"I recommend caution. The person accompanying her surely seems to know how to handle themselves in a fight."

"I'll be careful." McCree said, tipping his hat, before walking off.

"Very well. I shall provide assistance if necessary." Genji replied, waiting until McCree was gone before he started to head out himself. It was important to not draw attention. Genji knew how to move in the shadows and be unseen. He would utilize that.

What he didn't know was where that strange cloaked figure suddenly disappeared to. Hadn't he or she been here a moment before? Genji hadn't even seen the shadow move. Now it was just... gone. It didn't really matter. They would find out whoever that person was soon enough along with who the General was and what their intentions were.

"Tracer, come in please" Genji spoke into his communicator. "We spotted a Talon officer and are going to intercept her. Maybe we can get some valuable intelligence from her."

"Understood. But be careful. Zarya and I are there in probably seven minutes. Sit tight. Cavalry's on the way."

"Very well" he nodded.

"Oh, and Genji?" Tracer spoke up once again. "If that General seems like they know anything about Angela, beat it out of them, if you must."

"I understand." Genji said "Requesting radio silence until further notice."

-/-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, that's it for today yet again. Thank you everyone for reading and staying with me. It makes me really happy that so many people are enjoying the story.
> 
> As for Reaper:
> 
> I can imagine some of you may think he was acting weird. Let me explain a little bit. The scene was re-written quite often and it never seemed right. I have it to a few selected people to give me feedback and their opinions were split exactly in half. One half thought he needed to be more sinister, more evil and that he seemed to friendly. The other half said, considering he is obviously plotting something, it was just fine the way it is.
> 
> I should have asked an uneven number of people. Because asking an even number got me nowhere. In the end I settled for the version you just read.
> 
> Should this feel out of character for Reaper now, I humbly ask you to have some patience. I promise his reasons for acting the way he did will make perfect sense in the end. There is a plan behind it all.
> 
> Anyway, that's all I have to say for Reaper.
> 
> If you want to support the the poor edgelord.... errr I mean the story (I'm not an edgelord!) you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction
> 
> -/-
> 
> Translations:
> 
> de ne jamais voir de nouveau son enculé malade! = (French) (approx.) Good riddance, you sick fucks!
> 
> Herrgott = (German) Christ!


	21. Reunited, finally

"Mercy?" Widow asked in a hushed whisper while they were both coming around the corner of the port walls and on to the long main road in front of the small haven.

"Mh?"

"How are you? Honest answer." She asked with a certain urgency in her voice.

" _Äh_..." Mercy hesitated. Where was that suddenly coming from? Why was this important right now? And why was Amélie sounding like it was _really_ crucial to answer that question truthfully? Angela didn't know, but she knew better than to question the significance of an honest answer now. "I have been better. If we find a phone soon, I can contact Lena. I should be fine until then."

"Fighting capability fine? Or hardly not dying fine?" Widow asked, again the same kind of pressing tone in her voice. It started to concern Mercy a bit more than it should have.

"Why do you ask?" she carefully dared to inquire, not really sure if she wanted to know in the first place. Questions like that usually didn't bring good answers with them.

"There were two guys at the corner opposite to us waiting and observing. They are both gone now. But I didn't like their expression one bit. They screamed _Dark Wing_ so loud I'm almost deaf. The way they lingered at the corner…I have a bad feeling. This smells like a trap."

Mercy's first impulse was to ask what the hell a _Dark Wing_ was supposed to be, but reasoned that now was hardly the time. She instead answered Widow's recent question "To be honest with you, I am more barely not dying than capable to fight. Not that I _am_ dying; Just closer to that end than to the other..."

" _Merde_." Widowmaker hissed under her breath, but appreciated Angela's honesty. It would make her planning more predictable. "Ok, take this" Amélie handed Mercy the bag she was carrying and began to, yet again, search the insides for something. After a moment, she quickly pulled out her rifle, her glove with the hook, and the venom mine. This made the bag 20 kilos lighter. "Keep walking down the street to the next corner. Someone will stop you soon. Try to engage in idle conversation for as long as possible. I will take care of the rest. Don't worry; I won't let you out of my sight. Nothing is going to happen to you."

Mercy wanted to reply with something, but when she turned to her left, Widow was nowhere to be seen. Swallowing a sour lump down her throat, Angela continued to walk down the street just like she was told to. Her legs felt heavy, and each step was almost like her shoes were covered in glue sticking to the snow covered ground. She kept her head low, and tried to seem homely, but for someone wearing a General's uniform that was rather impossible. Especially considering the bright blonde mane coming out from under her combination cap.

Walking down the street felt like an eternity. Time stretched like elastic goo, and even though Mercy saw her legs moving, she felt like they weren't carrying her anywhere. It was like she was stuck on a gigantic treadmill. Deep inside herself she hoped - almost prayed - that Widow could have been wrong and that there was no one around to stop her at all. Maybe the two people Talon's now former master assassin spotted were nothing but two strange civilians.

Then again, Widow was the best professional killer in the world for a reason.

And one reason was that she was never wrong about these kind of things. She couldn't be. Her life and the success of the mission depended on it. Which Mercy realized as soon as she was standing in front of a pair of light brown cowboy boots. Angela swallowed before she could work up the courage and look up at the man right in front of her. ' _Idle conversation. Say something nice!'_ Mercy thought, but the stranger was faster.

"Excuse me, I need a minute of your time, _General_ " a raspy voice said as Mercy looked upward to the stranger. The more she saw, the more familiar she felt with him. His cowboy boots, the worn out jeans. his voice, the way he pronounced things. There was the stench of cheap cigars in the air, but Mercy noticed this rather late. He had his hand firmly around his holstered revolver and the huge golden belt buckle read 'BAMF'.

Mercy's eyes snapped open wide. "McCree!" She gasped, her head darting up and looking straight at him. And, indeed, standing in front of her was one unshaved, cigar-smoking, hat-wearing Jesse McCree. "What are you doing here?" she asked flabbergasted, not believing what she was seeing.

The cowboy blinked twice "Angie" he shook his head. "No. What are _you_ doing here?" He asked, reaching out to place his hand formerly on the handle of his gun on Angela's shoulder. "We came to rescue you! Are you ok? How did you escape? What are you doing in that uniform?" He gave her a shake which was probably a bit rougher than strictly necessary. But he couldn't help it. No one dared to voice the thought, but deep down they all thought they knew what it meant when the freighter exploded. There was no way Angela survived it.

And now she was standing here, right in front of him. She looked exhausted, pale around the nose, and definitely ready for some rest, but other than that she seemed fine. Or at least, Jesse thought she was fine.

"Did you blow up the freighter? Who was the other guy?" he asked in rapid succession.

Her eyes were wide open as she stared at him for a moment. Angela knew him. It was McCree. The same Jesse McCree who she called her friend. She had been with him on missions, and she had been with him on random outings. They got along well. He was a nice, honest guy. She was his behavioral health counselor for many long years. There wasn't a thing he wouldn't tell her. He would never do her harm; Angela knew that.

But she couldn't help it.

She felt his hand on her shoulder, firm and demanding, and her body started to freeze. She felt her skin tingling from cold sweat. His smell reminded Angela of _him._ His touch was strong…like _his_ was. The hand placed on her shoulder? It made her think too much about _him._ Mercy's stomach turned painfully as she saw McCree, her friend, being replaced by the ugly visage of Montgomery for what was but an instant.

It was enough.

She quickly jerked away from his hands, stepping back a little bit in her initial shock. It didn't help that she felt dirty all over her body. The brief touch now was enough to make her remember what happened before Amélie came to her rescue.

"Don't touch me!" she cried desperately, her arms wrapped tightly around herself in a frantic hug.

"Angie?" McCree asked, dumbstruck. She looked scared all of a sudden. Scared of him. Why? He didn't understand. "What's wrong? It's me!" he tried to explain, not knowing what to do. Where the hell was Shimada? He should be around somewhere. And where did that other guy run off to?

Angela stared at the cowboy with wide eyes. She felt like breaking down. It was McCree; no one else. Surely not Montgomery. Then why had his touch freaked her out so much? Why did she feel the sudden urge to run away and hide? She didn't have that problem when Widow touched her before, and she did much more than just place a hand on Angela's shoulder. But it was different with her. Amélie's touch was soft. Careful. It didn't freak her out. Widowmaker made her feel safe. She would protect her from harm, like she had since she came into Mercy's cell.

Widow would look out for the Swiss doctor.

That was the moment Angela realized something she forgot in the initial shock of the unexpected reunion with an old friend. Something she didn't think about while she was seeing things which weren't real.

 _"I will take care of the rest"_ Amélie had said. Mercy felt a tingle run down her entire body once the realization of what exactly Widow meant with these words hit her like a speeding truck. Widowmaker was going to shoot him. She thought he was a threat. She didn't know he was a friend. And after Angela pushed him off so harshly, she couldn't even blame the assassin for it. _Oh, fuck!_

"Listen, you have to-" _run._ Mercy couldn't finish her sentence when a gunshot ripped through the air with a unique and very distinguishable sound. A sound like it was only ever produced by _one_ rifle in the world, only this one of a kind weapon would create such a thunderous sizzling sound while the extra long bullet sped through the air, ripping through it like a sharp blade through paper. Yet another time the Widow's deadly kiss was blown at a target.

And it never missed.

Angela could feel the bullet rip past her, the hiss of air leaving a stinging pain in the right side of her neck as she had to witness the projectile connecting with McCree's left shoulder. The force of the impact spun him around his vertical axis as he crashed to the ground with a loud groan. It was his luck that he wore heavy armor underneath that cowboy outfit, but the bullet still pierced through it. The damage would have definitely been much more substantial otherwise.

Everything happened in light speed around Mercy as she struggled to even begin to comprehend what the hell was going on. Her vision started to tunnel, and she had no idea where Widowmaker had taken that shot from, but it was good for McCree that Mercy apparently stood in the way for a clean headshot.

McCree groaned on the ground, raising his hand to his shoulder to check the damage. There was a bit of blood, but way less than there could have been. The bullet apparently hit more of his artificial limb than his flesh.

"Jesse..." Mercy mumbled, rooted to her spot. She couldn't get her legs to walk when McCree tried to get up again. It was a miracle that the cowboy was even moving let alone succeeding to stand up. He was tough, that much was sure. That was when Widowmaker swung past Mercy using her grappling hook and landed right in between her and McCree. It seemed like Angela was stuck in a movie. She could only stand there and watch while the cowboy, though injured, was quick to reach for his revolver.

But Widowmaker was fast; faster than any other human could have moved, and kicked the weapon out of his hand with an impressive spin of her body, flicking her leg out in just the right moment to make the cowboy lose grip of his gun. Her motions were fluent- graceful even- as she sidestepped McCree's punch. Mercy had never seen someone move with such precision before. And apparently neither had McCree. The cowboy was caught completely off guard when Widowmaker slid over his shoulder, grabbing his neck and sending him flying to the icy ground in an impressive display of supernatural flexibility. Now behind him, the deadly assassin moved to eliminate the person who she believed to be a threat to Mercy. He had touched her. She jerked away. That fool _dared_ to mess with them? To just walk up to Mercy and grab her like that? Did he really think nothing would happen? It was reason enough for Amélie to act.

Angela opened her mouth to stop Amélie, but the words got stuck in her throat. There was a dash of green and three reflections lighting up in the night air. Widowmaker apparently saw them out of the corner of her eye and, in an almost Matrix-like move, she dodged the three Shurikens flying toward her. It was a miracle neither one of the projectile weapons hit the injured McCree or Mercy.

Widowmaker had no time to think about that as she evaded a blow from a long Katana. Her new enemy was moving well. He would definitely be a challenge. The Ninja she was facing could land a few hits with his legs or some punches, but Widowmaker was able to fend his most dangerous weapon off for now. She used her rifle to parade his Katana while they moved around and around each other in a deadly dance.

The blade was swung around his body and sailed down to her from above. She rose her rifle in reflex and crammed the sharp metal in between the trigger group.

There was a short moment in which no one moved.

It was the moment Mercy needed to calm her senses and regain her ability to think and speak.

"Stop it!" She yelled at the top of her lungs, probably waking up half of Diskon as she stared in shock at the scene in front of her. Mercy could only hurry over to McCree on the ground to check if he was alright so far. He groaned, his ego probably more damaged than his body.

"Dr. Ziegler" Genji stated, clearly surprised, glancing at Mercy and then back at Widowmaker. Why was the assassin apparently protecting the doctor?

Every fiber in Mercy's body was trembling, aching with anxiety. "Stop it!" she repeated silently. "These are my friends... and... and she saved me.. I... just stop this madness!" Mercy demanded with a shaking voice "Put away your weapons, please!" Mercy pleaded, looking down at McCree who shook his head, processing how he was taken out so fast. It wasn't the gunshot, was it?

"You first, swordsman" Widow hissed.

"I will not. Lower the gun, assassin."

"Genji Shimada!" Mercy cried, finally convincing her legs to move again as she hurried over to Genji and pushed him away from Amélie "I wouldn't be here without her! For the love of god, put your sword down!"

Genji hesitated for a moment, looking back and forth between McCree, Widowmaker, and a Talon-clad Mercy before he swung the blade around and returned it into the sheath on his back.

Widowmaker stared Genji down with a hateful glare before she retracted her rifle into assault mode and looked over to Mercy. "You sure, Angela?" she asked carefully, not taking her eyes off the ninja.

"They are my friends; I know them well. They won't hurt me"

"If you say so" Widow shrugged, walking over to McCree's revolver on the ground and picking it up, pondering if she should give it back.

"You shot me" McCree groaned as looked at his shoulder, or better, at Mercy controlling the wound. There was a hole in his clothes and in the armor underneath, but there wasn't a lot of blood….Relatively speaking at least.

" _Oui_. I did. And you have to thank the doctor for standing in the way of a clean headshot. The shot wasn't even fully charged. You'll survive, cowboy" Amélie replied uncaringly, ignoring the glare she got from McCree.

"You _will_ survive" Mercy confirmed after a quick inspection. When McCree tried to stand up, she shoved him back to the ground with a warning glare, making it crystal clear that he was to sit in exactly that spot and not move. "Give me some wound foam and I'll patch you up" she said demandingly. Surprisingly enough, it was Amélie who moved to the sports bag they brought along before retrieving a longish cylindrical dark metal object and passing it to Mercy. The doctor shook it a couple of times

"That is Talon tech, Angie" McCree tried to protest, but was met with no understanding on Angela's behalf.

"It's just wound foam. Like any other is. The bleeding isn't bad, but it needs to stop. Also, you don't want an infection, do you?" Mercy asked, not waiting for an answer as she slammed the needle right into his wound in the shoulder. The faint hissing noise indicated that the first aid measure was working if Jesse's face hadn't been indication enough already. That shit definitely wasn't pleasant.

Mercy was just about done tending to McCree's admittedly surprisingly unspectacular wound when she heard a well known noise. The noise created by a certain time acceleration device usually worn by a certain friend of hers.

-/-

* * *

Tracer was standing in the small boat she and Zarya had borrowed…or taken without permission but with the full intent of returning it undamaged.

She would have lied if she said that the recent com contact with Genji helped her calm down. Not one bit.

A Talon General? Here?

What's going on?

She had wondered about that for a minute or two and was really thankful that Zarya chose to shut up. Lena really didn't feel like discussing anything right now. There was this really bad feeling in her guts, and it wouldn't go away. She really couldn't put a finger on it.

And then there was this banging sound. This one distinct bang followed by a specific hiss.

A rifle shot, sounding like only _one_ rifle could sound. It was a sound she wouldn't ever forget; she had heard it so many times before. What started as the sound of doom in the beginning quickly turned into the sound of hope. Whenever Tracer heard the Widow's Kiss, she knew who she was looking for. She knew it was going to be one of _those_ missions. One of the rare dances they shared.

The Widow's Kiss. Widowmaker. _Amélie!_

That was the moment Tracer knew that either something went absolutely right or terribly, terribly wrong. Hoping for the former rather than the latter was all Lena could do, however.

"That sounded like a gunshot" Zarya stated, perking her ears.

"Ya think so, luv?" Tracer replied sarcastically. It was very relieving to see that the port was already close "Drop me off at the next possible point. I'll go ahead. You stay with the boat, ok?"

"Understood." Zarya replied, pulling the small vessel up close to the outer port walls. Tracer jumped the last few meters on to the mainland and blinked away, a vanishing blue trail of light was all she left behind.

Lena ran as fast as she was capable to do, her lungs burning from the freezing air, but she didn't allow herself to slow down.

Her heart was beating in an almost painful mixture of hope and fear while Tracer raced to the point where she thought the shot had come from. It was just a wild guess, but maybe she would be lucky. She was sure that Widowmaker was here. It was her rifle without a doubt. But would that mean that maybe Angela...? Lena didn't dare get her hopes up. She was no fool. Even if she didn't want to believe it, she was fully aware what the explosion at sea meant.

A good portion of her had died the moment she heard the explosion. She knew that her best friend was likely dead.

But what was Amélie doing here in Diskon?

Questions over questions and so little answers. Lena couldn't think straight anymore by now She was just focusing on rushing forward. Maybe, just maybe she'd-

And then she came around the corner and a blink later she was right there.

Next to them.

At first, Lena couldn't believe her own two eyes, but this was real. It was really happening. Her poor heart was skipping probably more than a couple of beats and she could have sworn that the damn old pump sunk into her pockets in that moment.

Amélie was the first one she noticed. And then, of course, there was Angela's blonde mane. She was just helping Jesse back to his feet. Genji was there as well. No one was hurt…at least not seriously.

And her best friend was alive! She wasn't on board the freighter! And Amélie was here as well! God, Lena could hardly believe her luck. It didn't take her more than an instant to know what had happened and to figure out why Angela was here.

Her lover had saved her best friend. There was no other explanation to it.

Despite being completely out of breath, Lena couldn't help but giggle. She had been so worried. She had been worried to the point where she doubted her own sanity.

And now everyone she had been so worried about was right in front of her. Safe and sound.

The relief Lena felt in this moment was not explainable with words or describable with fancy analogies. It was something she had never felt before; something more powerful than anything else Tracer had ever experienced. Seeing everyone, and she really meant _everyone_ ,standing here on the street now, unharmed, and safe, was an entirely different category of feelings; it nearly knocked her out.

She couldn't believe her eyes when she saw Angela standing there. The doctor just threw away an empty tube of wound foam, quickly checking the result on a very uncomfortable looking McCree.

Lena needed a moment to take everything in. It was over. Finally.

"Oh, thank god!" she exclaimed with more than clearly audible relief, blinking forward and into Mercy's arms, hugging her tightly. "You are here, luv! You made it! God, I am so glad! I was worried sick! Never do that to me again, you hear me?!" Tracer cried as Mercy worked through her initial surprise and hugged the smaller Brit back. The strange thing was, being touched by Tracer now wasn't freaking her out either. McCree's touch made her _really_ uncomfortable.

Lena, of course, had no way of knowing what was going on in Mercy's mind. She was just so happy to have her back. To see that she was still alive. That she wasn't hurt, or otherwise changed. It brought something back to life in Tracer; something she thought had died when the freighter exploded. It was a heartwarming scene of absolutely pure friendship how Lena beamed at Mercy with nothing but sheer joy.

"I'm alright, I'm alright! Don't squeeze me to death!" the doctor said, only half jesting. Tracer blushed a little bit and let go of Mercy. Angela smiled at her best friend "My new friend's efforts would have been for nothing if you did."

Mercy gestured toward Widowmaker who had come a bit closer. Tracer and her exchanged a painfully brief glance, both quickly looking away, afraid everyone would notice their secret immediately. It was silly, they both knew it, but neither one of them could help it. Lena's initial impulse was to go and jump at the blue skinned French beauty and hug her until she had no air left to breath before she'd kiss her senseless; but now was not the time. The completely lost faces of everyone, should she and Widow suddenly start making out here on the open street, were probably not worth the commotion. Besides, she waited for so long already, what was another few minutes, or maybe even hours? It didn't matter. What mattered was that her and Angela were both safe.

"Now if this isn't a surprise, Tracer" Widowmaker said coolly, lazily swinging her rifle to rest on her shoulder.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Lena replied, and managed to pull off a rather convincing pissed off tone. It was better this way. No one would be suspicious. And Lena knew that Amélie understood that.

" _Someone_ had to help your friend" Widow shrugged carelessly, deciding to go with the idea of not knowing Tracer for now. She knew that her lover wasn't as mad as she sounded. Her eyes were betraying her, overflowing with joy and affection. The mere sight alone was enough to give Amélie a warm and fuzzy feeling around her heart. "That isn't important now. Did anyone happen to bring Mercy's staff along?" she asked, switching the topic of their conversation altogether. "She really needs it soon."

"Why?" Tracer wanted to know, cocking an eyebrow and letting go of Mercy to step a bit back. Maybe she imagined it, but did Widow look a tiny bit jealous?

"My nanoprobes are experiencing some minor malfunctions. I need to sync with my staff soon." Angela stated, and tried to make it sound like it wasn't the big deal it actually was. Truth to be told, she was starting to have trouble standing again. Her vision was getting blurry, and she felt an uncomfortable pressure against the back of her eyes.

Amélie opened her mouth to call out the bullshit Mercy was telling, but she was interrupted by the cowboy.

"Hang on here for a moment" McCree stepped up, but Lena shot him a deadly glare.

"I know what you are thinking, but not _now!_ " she hissed. "We can take care of that at the hotel later on!" Tracer set her backpack down, but McCree stopped her from opening it.

"If we bring her back to the base and it turns out she is another sleeper we are all screwed. Fucked. Done for. Over and out. Goodnight forever." Jesse asserted forcefully.

" _Jesse..._ " Tracer warned with a deadly glare. "Didn't she just tend to your wounds? What kind of sleeper would do that?"

"It's okay, _Süße_ " Mercy waved it off as no big deal. The faster they would get this behind them, the faster she could hopefully get to her staff. It wasn't like Angela didn't understand McCree's reservations. This would be classic textbook Talon. Brainwash someone important to another person, send them back, and make them kill the target. It worked a couple of times before already, so why not again? Widowmaker was hardly the only case of this happening. She, however, was the first. And she was the only one where people were constantly denying it really happened. It was probably easier for most Overwatch agents to think Amélie had sold them out and did everything of her free will.

Mercy might have been one of those people who doubted the medical capability of anyone to influence rational decision-making in such a way.

Not anymore.

"Tell me what's on your mind, Jesse" Angela said and tried to sound warm, but the taste of iron in her mouth made that rather difficult.

"I don't want to go about this the wrong way. Especially considering that you obviously are still a medic first and foremost" McCree started, rubbing his hand over his patched up wound. "But please understand, Angie. This wouldn't be the first time Talon fooled us. How do we know you are still you? I mean, you just show up here in the port with _her_ " he nodded toward Widowmaker in a rather derogatory way, "and we are supposed to believe that _she_ helped you escape? You have to agree that smells fishy. I'm sure you know what _she_ made everyone believe once they freed her from Talon. This feels like history all over again."

"Angela is obviously not brainwashed. Don't you see that?" Tracer bellowed. This was stupid. It was Mercy; she could tell. Besides, Amélie would have never brought her if she wasn't sure Angela was still herself. But Tracer couldn't say that since she would have to reveal that Widow and her had an affair... relationship... whatever.

"Your affection for your friend might cloud your judgment, Lena. One can only see with both eyes open. My friendship with Doctor Ziegler makes me want to trust her, but I do know that our comrade's concerns are not unjustified. She had been in Talon's hands for quite a while. And the fact that she is accompanied by Talon's most dangerous assassin is not helping matters either." Genji stated.

"Don't get me wrong, Angie" McCree said "But we came to bust you out. And busting you out would have meant we were interrupting a process. We didn't really expect you to show up here…especially not with that woman here."

Widowmaker didn't give the cowboy any satisfaction in reacting to his statements simply because she wanted to get past this as fast as possible. So, she instead stated the best thing she could come up with to help their matters. "We brought our files along. You can read what happened there and I am sure your medical experts can confirm that Mercy is neither mentally unstable nor brainwashed in any way. I wouldn't have come here if that was the case."

"That's the problem; our most trusted medical expert is the one who got abducted. Besides, there is no one else here who could judge that with a professional opinion. I just don't want to wake up tomorrow only to find out I have been killed in my sleep along with everyone else. I lost an arm to not being careful before. You can't blame a man for being careful."

"Jesse McCree! It's me!" Angela shook her head "You know me!"

"Then give me something to work with here, Angie. I want to believe you, really." McCree said. He sounded sad. It was so obvious that this was difficult for him too. It wasn't like he wanted to question a good friend of his like this. Angela had done so much for him. She knew his darkest secrets. Talking to Angela about the things which bothered him had always been so easy for him. It was therapy. Yes. But he needed it. And she was there. "But I have to ask this, don't I? How do we know they didn't replace you with someone else in my friend's body?"

Angela smiled weakly. She understood his problem. It wasn't like she hadn't thought about that before. The timing was just...less than ideal. Still, this had to be done. It had to be answered. "I am the same person I was when I left for Zürich, Jesse. Yes, they abducted me. Yes, they did things to me like trying to break and brainwash me. But they failed. I was stronger than them. I kept myself going by thinking of what they did to Fareeha. I forced myself to fight. It was hard, and I almost didn't make it, but then I got help, and that help got me out of here" Mercy gestured toward Widowmaker who nodded slowly.

"I am still the same person you knew before today. I am still your friend. I am still the one you can come to and talk about what troubles you. I will always have that open ear for you. I am the same Angela Ziegler who chided you for wearing your hat to the official admission to Overwatch. I am the same Angela Ziegler who keeps telling you that smoking those cigars will one day kill you. I am the same woman who travelled with you to Texas when your grandparents were both old, sick, and on their deathbeds. I was there for you and held your hand for days while you cried your eyes out. But I was there for you. I have always been your friend and I always will be, without any doubts. And trust me, that wasn't always easy, Jesse. You have terrible table manners, and I hate those cigars you always smoke. But friends don't disappear just because times are rough. They help each other out. You should know that. Nothing has changed because of what those lunatics did to me. I am still that same friend who did that for you and who would do it all over again without a second guess." Mercy said this with a sad sincerity in her voice.

McCree stood there kind of awkwardly, reaching to scratch his wound. "And keep your fingers off the foam, Jesse! You don't want an infection!" Mercy basically ordered before she turned to Genji.

"And now to you, Genji Shimada. Didn't I spend months of my life developing and constructing that body of yours? I didn't even know you at that time, remember? You resented me for keeping you alive. You spat insults at me all the time, remember? I had to force feed you sometimes. I had to sedate you because you kept worming your way out of the bed and hurt yourself even more. And then you'd curse me all over again. I believe you wished me death more times than not while I worked on restoring your body."

"Not my proudest hours, I admit." Genji stated, looking away.

"But I helped you anyway. I took the insults, the hurtful remarks, the hate. I took it all, and I still helped you. Because I knew that underneath all that hatred and seething rage there was a man who needed help. He might not have known it, but he needed help. So, I did what I could for you, didn't I?"

"You did." Genji replied truthfully.

"Then don't even think for a moment that I would leave someone behind who needs my help just as much as you did. Just because she isn't bleeding to death or hasn't lost limbs doesn't mean she doesn't need help. What Talon did to her was _far_ worse than what your brother did to you, Genji. And if you choose to be insufferable to the woman who risked her life for me; who got me out of that _hell_ ,and who had to work through great struggles to accomplish that, just because of her past, then you have learned _nothing_ from your own past, and I have greatly misjudged your character, Genji."

Angela was in full blow, talking both McCree and Genji down without any pity. She had to force the hurting feeling in her eyes back so she could continue. But this would most likely settle their problems with each other for a while. She didn't want any mistrust to spread between them now. Mercy knew she wouldn't be able to stomach it. She hated it when friends couldn't trust each other. Friends were her family since she was seven years old. Angela couldn't exist without them.

Widow and Tracer exchanged another very brief glance as they both couldn't suppress a soft smile. Yep, this was definitely the original Mercy; there was no doubt about it. And anyone who knew her, even a little bit, would see that.

"And Lena" Mercy turned to Tracer who quickly rose her hands in defense.

"I never doubted you were you, luv. If you say they didn't break you, they didn't break you. You don't need to dismantle my past here. Please don't." Lena begged, waving her arms in front of her body. Mercy knew too much about her. The story she'd probably tell to convince everybody that she, indeed, was still the same Angela Ziegler would probably be really embarrassing. Like... _really_ embarrassing.

"Thank you" Angela stated, blinking. Her vision was starting to get blurry _again._ "I don't..." she started, but trailed off. There was that stinging pain on the side of her cheeks once more. This was not supposed to happen so soon again.

 _Not good_.

"Angela!" Tracer cried out. "Your face?!" she yelped, the shock written clearly across her expression as Mercy crumpled to the ground.

Widowmaker was a tiny bit faster than Tracer as she stepped forward and decisively caught Mercy out of the air, letting her glide down to the snow covered ground together with her. She held her carefully in her lap. "Now, for the love of god" Widow hissed angrily at McCree "Would you _kindly_ tell me if you have her staff? She is _dying_!"

That somehow felt like a punch to the guts for everyone standing in the otherwise abandoned street.

"My backpack. Quick!" Tracer exclaimed, jumping toward the black pouch. Hastily ripping her bag open, Lena grabbed the folded staff and yanked it out. She studied it for a moment, contemplating on how to unfold the thing, before she decided to just give it a flick…which worked. The long healing staff unfolded itself with a prominent click. Confident that the Caduceus staff was operational, Lena rushed to Angela's side.

Mercy was gasping for air, the black veins on her face more prominent than ever before. Her eyes were bloodshot, and there was a fine line of blood running out of the corner of her lids. _Great_.

"Angela! Luv! Can you hear me? Your staff! Here! Take it!" Tracer exclaimed, her London accent more prominent than usual, pressing the long but surprisingly light tool into her best friend's limp hand. Angela tried to grasp the staff, but couldn't. Her fingers didn't move the way she wanted them to.

"You stupid moron!" Widowmaker hissed at a dumbstruck McCree "I told you her health was suffering! I fucking told you, _enfoire!_ But no, no! Let's question her mental credibility before we do something! Are you completely retarded, cowboy?"

"Woah now" McCree said, but was interrupted by a cry from Lena.

"She is dying, Jesse! Why did you have to go on about that? You _knew_ she will take it personally! You _know_ others are always more important to her than her own wellbeing. We could have talked about it later! We could have-"

While Mercy coughed up a blob of blood, she apparently also somehow managed to get her fingers to do what she wanted as the end of her staff began to glow. She suddenly inhaled sharply, her chest arching forward almost painfully far while she sucked air into her lungs. The beam of the staff washed over her body, the visible effects of her rampaging nano-technology vanishing from her face.

Not a minute later, Mercy sat up on her own again, pulling herself up on her staff. "So that's what it feels like" she mumbled to herself, giving Amélie a nod of gratitude.

"Slow, luv." Lena was at her side immediately, helping her up. "Are you ok?"

"I will be." Angela smiled at her best friend, hoping it would calm her down a bit. The poor woman looked horrible, like she hadn't closed an eye in days. Which she really hadn't.

"Angela-" McCree began taking his hat off and putting it over his chest.

"It's ok, Jesse. Your worries weren't unjustified. Just badly timed." She smiled weakly at him. "Does the shoulder hurt badly?"

"You patched it up. It's alright" he replied feebly, looking mortified. He had almost caused the death of a dear friend because of what? Because he didn't trust her word? Maybe. But maybe also because he knew how dangerous Talon could be. He just wanted to be careful. Had he known how dire Angela's need for that staff was, he would have waited.

"It wasn't done properly. We'll look into that later" Angela said warmly.

There it was. The side of Mercy Lena had told Widowmaker about. The caring side; the one who looked out for everyone regardless of who they were or what they did.

"If it isn't asking for too much, do you have a stim with you?" Mercy wanted to know.

"We have something far better" Tracer laughed "A proper bed in a warm room. Zarya's grandmother has a hotel nearby."

"Speaking of whom, where is she?" Genji asked.

"Watching the boat, still" Tracer scratched her head "I'll tell her to meet us at the hotel." she instructed "I'll contact headquarters and fill them in on what happened."

-/-

The group walked back into the hotel lobby, exhaustion written clearly all over their faces. Now that the goal of their mission - rescuing Mercy - was achieved, the incredible tension washed off, and the adrenaline pulsing through their veins was slowly removed from their systems. Apart from maybe Widowmaker, who was the best rested of the lot, they all were close to falling asleep.

Luckily the lobby was completely abandoned. They were the only ones inside the warm lounge, which was probably not the worst coincidence. Widowmaker carried her rifle around, Genji forgot his cloak on the streets when he attacked Widowmaker, and Mercy was using her staff as support for walking while McCree poked the hole in his shoulder with curiosity. They looked like they returned home from war even though they didn't even go to one. The mission was never carried out the way it had been planned. Not that this was a bad thing. Not at all. They probably saved themselves a lot of pain and damage.

Tracer, who was leading the group, stopped in the middle of the lounge. "Alright, everyone. We wait for Zarya. She should be here shortly. Mission debriefing in five minutes." she announced tiredly. No one wanted to do a debriefing now, Tracer included, but it was just the way the rules wanted it, and she wouldn't get sloppy now.

"Yes, Ma'am" McCree yawned, walking past Tracer, followed by Genji, who nodded at her.

Angela walked up to Tracer and pulled her in for another warm and long hug. "Thank you" she muttered.

"Hey, I didn't do a lot, luv" Tracer smiled brightly. "Someone else did all my work"

"Be nice to her. She isn't as bad as you think" Angela smiled sadly before she walked after Genji. Tracer wanted to laugh simply because she found it hilarious how oblivious even her best friend was. Maybe if she would be more awake she'd have picked up on a few things and would have called Lena out on it. But as it was now, Angela was probably the most tired and exhausted of them all.

That left Lena and Amélie alone in the lobby. And for the first time since Numbani, they had a moment to themselves. Lena beamed at her girlfriend bright as day as she walked the few steps separating them over to her. Reaching out with both her hands, she took Amélie's in hers, gently stroking over the back of Amélie's cold hands with her thumbs before her fingers moved up to her wrist, caressing the pulse point there with delicate touches.

Lena's hot, slender fingers alone sent an electric shiver of excitement through Widowmaker, and she couldn't help but stare at Lena with probably the goofiest smile she was capable of. It felt so good being here. It didn't even matter where _here_ was as long as Lena was with her. She felt like the world around them didn't exist anymore. There was only that lively brown peering up to her, a smile as bright as the sunlight. And Amélie felt the warmth spread through her body once again.

"Thank you, luv" Tracer suddenly said, breaking the comfortable silence between them. "Thank you for saving her and..." She smiled the dwelling tears in her eyes away "thank you for coming back to me, blueberry" Lena's heart was on fire. She was so happy right now. Angela was safe. A little banged up, yes, but mostly fine and, not only that, she also somehow got her Amélie back. Lena wanted to cry out in joy, and it cost her all her strength to not eat Widow alive right where they were standing.

"Anything for you, _chérie_ " Amélie hummed, enjoying even the simplest of touches from Tracer. She leaned in a bit closer, completely forgetting they were standing in the middle of the hotel lobby and fully intent on kissing Lena.

But then the front door of the hotel opened and the two basically jumped a step away from each other, almost like some teenagers caught doing something forbidden. Lena noted this down on her list of things she would have to talk about with Amélie. They would have to figure out how they wanted to make this entire... well, their relationship, work now. Tracer wasn't stupid. She could count two and two together. There was a damn good reason why that freighter exploded, and why Widow saved Mercy, and why she was here now. They had talked about this in Numbani, when it was still an impossibility. Faking her death and running away. Tracer knew what Widow had been planning and she loved it. Her ties to Talon were cut once and for all. She was all hers from now on.

" _Privet_ " Zarya called out, walking into the hotel "I brought the boat back. What did I-" she stopped, looked at Widowmaker, rubbed over her eyes, and looked again, as if she made sure that she wasn't seeing funny things. "You are new" she stated, her tone neutral. Apparently Zarya didn't know who Widowmaker was. Tracer let a silent sigh of relief escape her lips. She really could have lived without another one hating her girlfriend.

" _Oui,_ " Widow nodded, slightly confused "I am."

"And you are blue." Zarya stated, Amélie cocking an eyebrow. What an astute observation.

"Yes."

"What's going on?" The Russian weightlifter asked. "I feel like I am missing out on something. Has this to do with the gunshot you heard before, Lena? The one you recognized and got you so worried?"

Tracer nodded "Yeah, that was her. Listen, go to the conference room. We'll start the debriefing then."

-/-

* * *

When Lena walked into the conference room they had been using to plan the rescue operation for Mercy, everyone else, apart from her and Amélie, was already there. Zarya had sat down in one of the many chairs around the table as had McCree, who was sill rather fascinated by the hole in his mechanical shoulder. His arm wasn't working properly anymore. Lifting it above a certain height was impossible, but apart from that, it was a miracle the damn thing still worked that much. Torbjörn did a good job when he constructed the prosthesis. He would also do a great job in fixing it again.

Mercy was standing in front of Genji, her staff leaning to the table to her right, the beam still connected with her. Tracer didn't know how long it would take for her damaged nanoprobes to adjust themselves again. Angela had told her everything she needed to know on their way back to the hotel.

The doctor _did_ look rather kickass in the uniform she was wearing. Not that it fit her usual style, but it had a certain appeal to it. An uncharacteristic dominance.

"Genji, may I borrow your blade for a moment" Angela asked the ninja. "I need it real quick. You'll get it back in a moment" she reassured him with a smile.

Genji wasn't quite sure if he really should give Angela his sword, but then again, he didn't really want to give her a reason to chew him out again. Reluctantly, he reached for the grip of his blade in the sheath on his back when Angela shook her head with a laugh

"Sorry. The small one will do just fine. I doubt I could handle that large one" she smiled warmly, rolling up her left sleeve while Genji retrieved the smaller Tantō on his back.

"What'cha doing, luv?" Tracer asked, peering over Mercy's shoulder as the doctor took Genji's secondary blade into her hand.

Lena's eyes grew wide when realization struck her. There was a god awful tattoo on her best friend's arm. A barcode and something like a type designation. They branded her like fucking pig in a farm. "Wait!" Tracer exclaimed, but it was too late. There were easy and painless ways to remove tattoos. Simple laser-operations, done in the matter of minutes. It didn't even leave a trace of the former mark on your skin. Lena absolutely understood that Mercy wanted to get rid of that cruelty on her body, but she would just have to wait until they were back at the Watchpoint.

Yet Angela had a more _immediate_ solution in mind.

With a swift motion, and the unparalleled precision only an experienced surgeon could ever muster, Mercy dragged the sharp weapon through her skin, cutting it off her lower arm together with the ink injected into it.

Blood gushed out of her arm for a moment, but the doctor was still connected to her healing staff. The wound quickly closed itself with far less life juice spilling everywhere than Tracer had seen in her mental eye.

She just stood there for a moment, staring as Mercy set the piece of her skin aside, reached for a paper towel, cleaned Genji's Tantō quickly but thoroughly, and handed it back to him.

"I am no one's property" she hissed angrily, watching as her cut off skin quickly turned grey before it decomposed into nothing but ash. The nanoprobes still inside that part of her body quickly destroyed the now lifeless tissue. "Now I feel better."

"Sometimes you really scare me, luv" Tracer stated.

"You don't know how it felt" Angela said only for Lena…and probably Widow, who stood rather close, to hear. And Lena _didn't_ know. She could imagine, but she wouldn't know. Amélie knew. She sympathized with Angela.

"I don't" Lena nodded, smiling weakly. She really hoped her best friend was fine. More or less. At least for now. She suspected that things would get easier once they were back at the Watchpoint. "But let's just start the debriefing now. I am dead tired and things are rather unclear as of now."

Angela nodded. "Alright. Let's just be civil about this for a moment. Before we start, let me just quickly fill you in on something. I couldn't escape Talon without help" Mercy gestured toward the assassin near her. "Now, she, of course, has a problem because she can't go anywhere. Not really. As you might have guessed, the explosion of the freighter was our doing. We wanted to make sure that our disappearance would be unnoticed. And now that she is free of Talon, I promised a safe place for her to stay. I am planning on using Gibraltar as such a safe place."

"Erm, Angie, not to be picky or anything, but you don't have the authority to allow that" McCree stated.

"I will talk this through with Morrison. I gave her my word, so let's just leave it at this for now. Without her, I would most likely not be standing here now. So, let me introduce everyone real quick, because if I get my way, and I _will_ get my way, we are all going to see each other more often." Mercy shot McCree a warning glare, telling him to watch his mouth. He was a good man, but his mind wasn't the most flexible. He was stubborn and sometimes a little... traditional. To him, an enemy was always an enemy. And a friend used to be a friend forever. He had learned the fatality of that philosophy the hard way. Some friends weren't meant for forever. Just as some enemies weren't always your enemies. But Jesse didn't see it this way. Angela wouldn't go so far as to call him simple, because he wasn't. McCree had experienced some very bad incidents in his life. She couldn't _really_ blame him for his behavior. He meant well.

"So..." Angela felt uncomfortable calling Widowmaker Amélie in front of everyone. When she told her about it, the way the assassin had said it, her words felt more like a confession only meant for Mercy's ears; not for everyone. She ended up not using a name at all, instead just gently touching Amélie on her shoulder "The huge woman with the pink hair relaxing in the corner and not saying a word is Aleksandra Zaryanova. We call her Zarya most of the time. Her grandmother runs this hotel, from what I gathered?"

" _Da_ " Zarya nodded.

"She is one of the new Overwatch members" Mercy noted before moving on.

"The cowboy you shot goes by the name Jesse McCree, and trust me when I say he isn't normally such an insufferable git. He is a rather decent human being most of the time."

"Howdy" McCree tipped his hat and actually managed to _not_ sound like he was about to shoot Widow.

"The Ninja over there is called Genji Shimada. He and I have been friends for a long time now, haven't we?"

"We have, Dr. Ziegler." Genji bowed toward Widowmaker, a hand held in front of his chest with two fingers out and two curled into a half fist like he was making a finger pistol. " _Yoroshiku_. I apologize for my earlier behavior."

"And last but not least, this is Lena Oxton, also known as Tracer. She is my best friend, so I'd be really happy if you two could get along." Mercy said with a hopeful smile.

Tracer giggled cutely "We met before, luv, so no need for introductions." she said, the glance she shot Widowmaker not going unnoticed. Someone was shifting the gear lever into L for lesbian.

"You have?" Mercy asked, turning to Widow with a one-sided smile, feeling the urge to give her a heads up at least. "Well, I suppose it's only fair if I give you a warning then since you saved me and all. Be careful with Tracer or you'll end up in her bed faster than you can think" Mercy winked at Lena who complained loudly while Amélie could hardly contain a smirk from spreading across her lips. Well, Mercy was actually right. She ended up in Tracer's bed way faster than she ever thought. Though she was unconscious the first time. The _second_ time, however...

"And this, of course, is the woman who saved me from Talon. Now, I know you all aren't exactly fond of her and, trust me, I wasn't either, but she really did a lot to get me out of there. I do owe her big time, so please be nice to her."

" _Widowmaker_ " McCree grumbled. "You know that she killed her husband in his sleep, right? Gerard Lacroix was a good friend of mine."

Widowmaker heard that name. Loud and clear. She had a stinging pain in the back of her head as an image flashed into her mind. An attractive man with a two-day-old beard. He glared at her for some reason. And then he smacked her across her face. Amélie could feel the burn on her cheek even now.

"That was the past. Her name is-" Angela started, but was interrupted by the French beauty. She didn't want to hear her name again now. She was afraid hearing it would only unlock another memory she didn't want to see.

"It's ok, Angela." she smiled briefly, ignoring the image she just saw and instead concentrating on her more confident self. She turned to the rest with an enchanting smile on her lips. " _Enchante_ " she greeted everyone with a seductive French hum "Don't worry; I _usually_ don't bite." Amélie purred, causing Tracer to almost choke when she heard that. Because Amélie _loved_ to bite her all over her body. The imprints of her teeth were still visible on most areas of her skin Widow decided to pay attention to.

"Good. Now that we all know each other, let's start with what happened on the freighter and how you escaped, shall we?" Lena started, ignoring the heat she suddenly felt from Amélie's statement before she sat down on one of the chairs around the table. "Quick and dirty so we can report it to headquarters asap and finally go to bed afterward."

-/-

* * *

Widowmaker closed the door to the conference room behind her maybe ten minutes later. Apparently she was not welcome for this part of the debriefing. It apparently had to do with her in some way, so she didn't bother asking for more information and left them to it. Tracer gave her an apologetic look when she opened the door for her, and Amélie had little difficulty picking up on the guilt which lay behind those beautiful brown eyes. She would have liked to tell Lena she was worrying for naught, but she didn't find a way to say it without anyone noticing. So, Amélie just smiled at her lover, hoping it would be enough to calm her nerves before she slipped through the door into the slightly cooler corridor outside.

Not really knowing what she should do otherwise, Amélie headed for the abandoned, yet still brightly lit, lobby and allowed herself to sink into one of the many comfortable leather armchairs. The cold leather hugged her slender body nicely while Widow crossed one leg over the other. She stared blankly into the comfortable lounge, letting her eyes roam through the room. From where she was sitting, she had all the entrances and exits to the lobby covered, so she would notice immediately when someone entered the hotel.

For the first time in a while, Widow allowed herself to really relax; to let the events of the last hours and days sink into her head and process them.

She was here.

She made it. She was away from Talon and to what _had_ to be safety.

After years and years of slavery, she was free again. Finally, she managed to piece enough information in her head together to make her _want_ to leave. The numbing confusion and blinding fog in her mind was clearing up, and Amélie could see - really see - for the first time in years.

It was all thanks to Lena Oxton that she now was where she was. Not only geographically.

Mercy trusted her. Hell, she seemed to even like her to a degree, and so did Tracer. Of course, Lena should better like her after everything they had been through. And Widow wasn't even talking about the sex, which was absolutely mind-blowing. No. She was talking about their emotional connection. Or, at least, her emotional connection with Lena Oxton, the only person on this planet who made her _feel_ andmade her frozen heart thaw, and her icy soul warm up. She was the one who wormed her way into Amélie's heart so persistently that even Talon's chemical trickery couldn't remove her anymore. It was only Lena Oxton who enabled Widow to think clearly again; to feel something else other than the pleasure of killing. Only Lena brought love and warmth with her where only darkness and despair used to be. With Tracer around, Amélie felt like she was finally whole again.

She didn't want to miss that feeling for anything in the world.

Now, it was only a matter of convincing the boss of Overwatch to let her stay.

For some reason, Widowmaker was rather positive about this. Maybe it was because she already made the impossible possible by running away from Talon without them ever knowing she was still alive (hopefully). Maybe it was because she was at a point where she really couldn't care anymore. It was a very long, very tiring day after all.

But what if Overwatch decided she was a threat? Would Tracer do what she had mentioned in Numbani and run away with her? Amélie smiled at the thought because that _would_ be exactly what Lena would do. She'd show up in the middle of the night with a small backpack and grab her by the hand, running off into the night. And Amélie would come with her no questions asked. She'd happily follow her to hell if that was where Lena wanted to go.

Widowmaker was harshly ripped out of her musings when someone suddenly placed a bowl of soup on the small coffee table in front of her chair.

Her head shot up and she met the old face of an easily hundred-year-old woman who smiled a warm, motherly smile at her. It had been a while since someone snuck up on her like this. Reaper didn't count. He probably teleported, and that was cheating.

"You look like you could use a warm soup, my child" she said in Russian, carefully letting her old body sink into the armchair next to Amélie. The elderly woman made an exhausted sound, folding her arms over her stomach. She looked contempt with the world like it was. Her age gave her an aura of great wisdom, and the grandmother seemed like nothing could shock her anymore.

Amélie stared at the soup for a moment, contemplating hissing at the old woman for sneaking up on her, but deciding against it. Instead, she reached for the soup and tasted a spoonful. It was hot and rather spicy, but it warmed her up from inside.

"Thank you" Widowmaker replied, also in Russian. Her Russian wasn't the best in the world, but she could manage. "You run the hotel?"

"That I do" grandmother Zaryanova replied with a warm laugh. "You know, it's funny how you renegades all pick this chair." she stated, looking into the distance like it was nothing at all.

Widowmaker felt her hand freeze around the silver spoon, staring at the old woman in absolute shock. A part of her was already contemplating how she'd kill her should she turn out to be one of Talon's double agents. With a flick of her thumb the spoon turned around in her hand from an eating position into an attack position. Yes, Widowmaker was perfectly capable of turning an innocent spoon into a deadly instrument of destruction.

"Relax, my child" The ancient hotelier chuckled "You are hardly the first Talon defector who came to this hotel. They have been using Diskon as a port for many long years. And people sometimes tend to run away. They all end up here. And they all end up in this chair sooner or later. I don't want to know what they did to you to automatically make you pick the safest point for an escape even in a peaceful hotel."

"You know?" Widow asked, flabbergast.

"Of course." Grandmother Zaryanova replied warmly. She was completely calm, like she was often giving advice to people in Amélie's situation. "I have been around long enough, and Talon has been haunting this town for too long. An enemy of them is a friend of mine. And I welcome everyone who wants to get away from them. Most of them don't make it; did you know that?"

"That is hardly encouraging, thank you" Widowmaker rolled her eyes.

"I said most of them. Not you. You will make it out of here just fine. I know you will."

"What makes you say that?" Amélie wanted to know, turning the spoon in her hand back into eating position and proceeding to fill her empty stomach with the meal.

"Well, you have a good motivation for starters. That, and you are the first who blew their ship up to get away. I like your odds."

Widow snorted "What would you know about my motivations?"

The grandmother laughed happily, and Amélie didn't like it one bit how she apparently knew a lot more than she should have in the first place. Were all older people like this? So mysteriously knowledgeable?

"Oh, I think I have you figured out, my child" she said, her laughter slowly fading away into a bright smile "You did it all for that lovely British girl, didn't you? I have to admit, she is a solid choice. A very solid choice. Determined, friendly, and she cares about her friends. No. Nothing wrong with risking something for her."

Widow couldn't help but stare blankly at her again. How the hell did she figure that out?

"Now, now, my child. Don't give me that look. I know what I have seen. How you looked at each other, even if it was only for a moment, and how she held your hands over there. It was hard to miss"

"We were alone..." Widow breathed.

"It is my hotel. I've lived here for more than sixty years. I guess I can move around without anyone noticing."

Widowmaker couldn't come up with a single word…which seemed fitting as a reply. Not one.

"You are keeping it secret, aren't you?" Grandmother Zaryanova stated more than she asked. "You are afraid that no one would understand. That they'd blame her for being with you, right?" she asked sadly, looking at the woman next to her. She was beautiful, despite her pale blue skin and intimidating golden eyes. She must have been drop dead gorgeous when she was still normal. Grandmother Zaryanova felt a heavy sadness in her heart. This wasn't the way things should be.

"Yes" Amélie nodded and looked away. It was heartbreaking to watch.

"Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me. Let me tell you that this will change. There will be a time when your friends will understand and when they will accept it. Maybe not now. Maybe not tomorrow. But there will be a time." The old woman smiled an encouraging smile at Amélie "For what it's worth, I think you made the right choice. I hope you will find happiness, my child. I don't know what Talon did to you, but whatever it was, I am sure you deserve to be happy more than anyone now." Grandmother Zaryanova nodded at Widowmaker while she got up from her chair. "And now I will leave you to it. Just know that as long as you are here, you are in no trouble. Relax a bit."

"Thank you" Widowmaker replied automatically, her brain still processing what it got fed just now.

"You are very welcome."

-/-

Half an hour later, Tracer came out of the conference room close to collapsing on the spot. They went through all the events of today one more time, writing a preliminary report and informing headquarters about the successful mission.

After some convincing, Angela and Lena managed to get McCree to accept that Widowmaker would stay with them for the time being…at least until Morrison made the final decision on what would happen with her. The cowboy apparently had the most problems with her being here. He didn't trust her one bit.

Then again, he was the only one who got hurt by her, too. Or more accurately, damaged.

Zarya didn't really care either way, maybe a little over-confident in her ability to handle the assassin should worse come to worst.

And Genji, well, he was silenced by Angela's prior argument that he would have learned nothing from his own past should he choose to judge Amélie based on hers. She wanted to leave Talon. She wanted to escape, and Lena was actually rather surprised with the ferocity Mercy defended her best friend's lover. It was good, because it spared Lena the trouble of having to do it without any real reason why she would know such things.

When Mercy slapped the fact that Amélie didn't choose to join Talon and that she had no other choice but to abide by their will into their faces, it was enough to shut even McCree up.

After that matter was settled, they agreed that it would be best to spend the night at the hotel and be picked up first thing the next morning. And seeing how they all were beyond exhausted, this was probably a very wise decision.

"I'll go and check on our little assassin" Tracer announced.

"It's ok, I can-"

"Nononooo, luv" Tracer stopped Angela from taking that responsibility from her. "You will take this key" she handed her an old fashioned metal key with a keyring and a wooden fob and number on it "and go to the room it unlocks. You get inside. You strip out of those horrible, yet strangely hot clothes. You grab a quick shower. And then you crawl into bed where you sleep until I wake you up tomorrow. Got that?" Tracer asked, cocking her head to the side in a cute way.

Mercy rolled her eyes. She knew she wouldn't stand a chance against Tracer. Not only because she wouldn't stand down, but also because her best friend was right. She really needed sleep. And a shower. Taking the key from Lena, Angela nodded tiredly " _bin ja schon weg_ " she murmured under her breath, turning around and slinking off.

"Sleep tight, luv" Tracer said after her, turning around to go and find Amélie.

Which was more difficult than she imagined.

But eventually, she found her outside the hotel in the freezing cold. She was on the side which allowed for a breathtaking view over the ocean. Or it would have been breathtaking had it not been in the middle of the night and absolutely pitch-black. In the distance, however, one could still see the fires of the exploded ships burning.

Amélie leaned against the wall of the hotel, taking a deep drag from a cigarette. The glow of the burning tobacco briefly lit up the stern features of her face and there was a faint, silent crackle from the embers.

"You smoke?" Lena asked as she walked up to Amélie. She didn't even bother leaning to the wall next to her and instead went straight for the hug, falling into her arms.

"Not regularly" Widow replied with a shrug, exhaling the smoke in the process. She did it more as an excuse to get outside and be alone for a minute or two than for the nicotine. "You mind?"

"No" Lena said hastily, quickly bringing her lips to Amélie's. She waited long enough for this. And soon enough, their innocent kiss grew more and more desperate, sloppy and definitely not graceful. It was filled with a primal need; an insatiable desire for the other as their lips violently crashed together and their tongues danced around each other in pursuit of dominance until they both broke away for some much-needed air.

Widowmaker had long since dropped her cigarette into the snow.

"Eww" Lena giggled "You taste like a London chimney"

"And why would you know how that tastes?" Widow replied with a chuckle.

"Oh, wouldn't you want to know?" Lena laughed, letting her head rest against Amélie's cool chest, her arms carefully draped around her lover's slender waist while she was playing with the hem of the lower edge of Widow's backless outfit.

Amélie hummed blissfully as she pressed Tracer a little closer to her, ignoring the pressure of her chronal accelerator.

"Are you alright?" Lena asked, one of her hands gliding up from Amélie's back to softly caress the bandage around Widow's neck. "Angela told me she cut a tracker out of your neck. Did it hurt?"

Widow shook her head "No. Your friend is very good at her work. I hardly felt anything." Amélie said, only telling a half truth. "I'm fine now." she sighed as she felt Lena's hand glide into her hair, carefully sliding her fingers through it. Lena liked her deep purple hair, Widow knew. She said it was like liquid silk. If getting her neck cut open without any anesthetic was the price she needed to pay to get to feel Lena running her fingers through her hair more often, it was a price worth paying.

"I missed you, Blueberry" Lena whispered after some moment of stroking through her hair and caressing her back. "I missed you so much it hurt. It was all so much since Numbani. But I want you to know that I am sorry for leaving in such a hurry. We should have worked things out better. I feel like I abandoned you there and I promised I wouldn't leave you again. But I did, didn't I? I'm sorry, luv."

"It's fine, _chérie._ " Widow replied softly. "It was for the better, I guess." she said, her voice growing slightly remorseful. There was something she was sorry about, too. And it wasn't something Amélie wanted to talk about now, in this beautiful moment, but she needed to. She owed Lena at least some honesty for everything she did, and for everything she does, and for everything she risked for someone who was basically nothing else but a failed experiment.

"Lena?"

"Mh?"

"I have to tell you something. And I don't think you'll like it. But I need to tell you."

"What is it?" Lena asked plainly, not taking her head off Amélie's chest. She could hear her slow heart beat underneath, and it was getting slightly faster. A calming sound, somehow, yet also a constant reminder of how much Widowmaker was artificially changed.

"When I tried to free Mercy, I..." she paused for a moment, mentally preparing her for Tracer's reaction "I kissed her. And touched her. I kissed her and touched her breast." She repeated that last part for some reason. "I didn't mean anything by it. It was just to buy some time. You see, I was untying her, but the guy who had been torturing her returned sooner than I thought, so I needed to distract him. I panicked, and it was the first thing which came to mind. I am sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"It's ok" Lena laughed silently. Angela had told them everything about the events in the torture cell when Amélie was already gone. She had left the kissing out, of course, but she did mention that Amélie had to use some dirty tricks to get her free of her binds. "Relax. I'm not mad or anything."

"How is that ok?" Amélie asked, taken aback. For Lena this was an easy thought.

"You like her the way you like me?" Lena asked, taking her head off Widow's chest to peer into her mesmerizing golden eyes.

"No. Of course not" Amélie replied truthfully.

"And you did it only because you needed a distraction?"

"Yes. I wouldn't have otherwise"

"See?" Tracer smiled, putting her head back where it was before, listening again to the sound of Amélie's heart. It was slowing down again. "I told you before. I trust you. If you say there was nothing to it, there was nothing to it. End of discussion. Nothing to be sorry about. You brought my best friend home safely. I won't criticize you on how you did it. If you deemed kissing and touching her was necessary for success, it damn well was necessary." Lena said and started mumbling halfway through the sentence, her words growing slower and heavier with each new one falling off her tongue.

There was a long moment of silence, which Widowmaker needed to process what Lena just said. She somehow expected she'd be mad at her.

Amélie never thought Lena would look at it from such a cold, rational angle. She saw it for what it actually was. A necessity born out of a desperate situation. Nothing more.

While Widow was thinking about that, she noticed that Tracer fell into total silence. Her breath had gotten slow and steady, and she could feel the rhythmic gush of warm air against her skin.

" _Chérie?_ " Amélie whispered softly, letting a hand run through Lena's thick, unruly hair which Widow liked to touch so much. The chocolate brown mane was more rigid than her own, stiffer and fuller. It made Amélie want to pull it…which she had done a couple of times in Numbani and had been rewarded with a satisfied moan. She didn't pull on it now. She just let her fingers vanish in between Lena's dense hair, softly massaging the warm skin underneath.

"I love you, Blueberry" Tracer muttered under her breath, clearly already fast asleep.

It was the most adorable thing that ever happened, and it brought the brightest smile on Amélie's lips as these words sunk into her soul. It was like a beautiful, rare flower just blossomed in her heart.

This was not how Widowmaker imagined this moment.

Yet it was even sweeter now that it was finally here.

"I love you, too" she whispered softly, gently picking Tracer up in her arms, so the sleeping beauty wouldn't wake up, and carrying her inside. She felt the Brit snuggling against her bandaged neck, murmuring something inaudible before she showered the bandage in sleepy kisses all while she was still knocked out.

The lobby was luckily still completely deserted, save for grandmother Zaryanova who was standing at the reception with a smile that said 'What did I say?' way too loud for Amélie's liking.

Without speaking a word, the old woman gave Amélie a key to a room and another endearing smile. Widow nodded as she walked off to carry Lena to her room.

To _their_ room for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so far this should be known from FFN. I just copied everything from there to this place.  
> From this point I'll just keep both places updated whenever new chapters appear. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the story so far ^^  
> If you want to support me by maybe funding my crippling addiction to coffee, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction
> 
> o7  
> E82
> 
> Translations:
> 
> privet = (Russian) Hello
> 
> bin ja schon weg = (German. Approx) yes, yes, on my way.


	22. Are you happy together?

**Unknown location, France, somewhere near the south coast.**

"Master?"

"What is it, Gerda?" Savant looked up from his newspaper, eyeing his slave maid with mild annoyance. He wanted to enjoy his dinner in peace, not be bothered by some unimportant details. The fact that his meal was still not served was bothering him enough as it was. Apparently it was time for some major changes with the kitchen employees. Gerda just added to his general discontent at the moment. She was so hyper attentive all the time, communicating every small detail with him. Sure, he had ordered her to be neuro-programmed like this, but sometimes it was simply annoying.

"I'm sorry, but there is bad news." she stated timidly, rubbing her hands together while having to work up the courage to look her master in the eyes. He dropped the newspaper onto the large dinner table in front of him, covering the exquisite porcelain.

"What kind of bad news?" He inquired sharply, piercing her with a sharp glare. His maid started trembling under his gaze as he felt himself growing angry. He was no friend of bad news. Not at all.

"W-we have lost one of the swimming headquarters." Gerda pressed out.

"I see" Savant said, scarily calm, while he proceeded to fold the newspaper in front of him in a precise way. He didn't look at his maid. "Give me the rundown" he ordered, placing the paper above the dishes.

"Y-Yes, Master" Gerda stammered. She knew that her master was far from the calmness he portrayed now. This wouldn't be the first time. And it surely wouldn't be the last. "At approximately 2200 hours yesterday evening there was what appeared to be refueling accident at Diskon. Currently all we have available is a satellite image which suggests improper fuel handling as the cause of the following explosion. We lost number 3, Central Europe, Master, along with the tanker. I am sorry." Gerda managed, keeping her hands behind her back despite knowing what would most likely follow.

"Central Europe." Savant stood up and out of his exquisite oak wood chair "Central Europe." he repeated, walking over to Gerda and placing both his hands on her shoulders. His eyes were burning holes inside his smaller maid.

"Survivors?" he asked with a forcibly controlled voice. The corner of his lip was twitching.

Gerda took a deep breath. "None, Master. We lost 2349 soldiers, 12 test subjects, and General Natasha Azarova, the _Dark Wing_ commander."

In that moment, Savant lost his temper. His hands shot from Gerda’s shoulders to her throat, grabbing her tightly as he lifted her into the air, chocking her.

"Do I look like I give a shit about the soldiers?" he hissed, infuriated.

"N-no, Master" Gerda pressed out. She kept her hands behind her back. She was trained to take his rage. It was okay.

"You useless cunt!" He yelled, kneeing Gerda into the stomach before tossing her into the room. "Do you have any idea who Number 3 had on board?!"

Gerda tried to pick herself up from the floor, tasting blood in her mouth. "TTS 627, Master." she coughed, taking another hit from her owner. "Please forgive me! I'll find another solution!" she begged desperately. Her stomach felt like it was on fire. Savant grabbed his maid by the collar again and lifted her up into the air.

"I don't give a shit about Ziegler, either! She is replaceable somehow. You know exactly who I am talking about! Don't you dare play dumb with me."

"I'm sorry, Master!" Gerda said. She kept apologizing even if she didn't do anything wrong. It didn't matter. "I will gladly fill her place, if that satisfies you."

Groaning, Savant let go of his maid who struggled to stand straight. "You will do that. But first, you will fill a gunship with a tech-team and a bunch of sappers and dispatch them to Diskon. Also, send a echelon fighters, just to make sure"

"Right away, Master" Gerda replied devoted.

"And get me my dinner!"

-/-

**Diskon, Russia, Grandmother Zaryanova's hotel, a few hours later.**

_The corridor was dark and damp. Unpleasant altogether. Not a place anyone would consider walking down if it could be helped. Tracer had no idea how she ended up here. It was cold and drafty. She was scared. But scared of what? She didn't know. All she knew was that she needed to run. Hurry. Run. Get away from something. Or get somewhere. Tracer didn't know what it was. She just knew that time was running short._

_Her ragged breaths were echoing from the cold metal walls of the dark corridor together with the sound of her hurried steps. Lena stumbled forward, looking back over her shoulder like she wanted to check if someone was after her._

_But no one was there._

_She was alone._

_Yet she didn't feel like she was._

_How on earth did she end up here? Where was she? What was this place?_

_Her lungs were aching from breathing so hectically, but Tracer couldn't allow herself to stop and consider anything for even a small moment. She knew that she needed to get there._

_There?_

_Where?_

_Lena had no idea. She didn't know. But time was running short. It was. It had to. There was not enough of it. She needed to hurry. Hurry. Faster. Now. Move._

_Lena ran toward a crossroad, the confining corridors still dark and narrow. She got the feeling that the ground underneath her was slightly moving like she was on a ship of some sorts. Was she? If so, how got she here? Lena didn't have time for answers. She took the corridor to her left and burst through a door._

_She knew it was the correct door. The door she had been searching for without knowing it. It was an ordinary metal door, like any other, but Lena still knew it was the one she wanted right now._

_Behind the door, however, was nothing but darkness._

_Complete darkness._

_Breathing hectically, Lena felt her panic rise and rise. This had to be the right room! It was. She knew. But why was there no one here?  She spun around to leave the room again, but the door was gone._

_Lena froze in place._

_She was standing in the dark._

_Alone._

_A painfully long second ticked past, like the sand in the hour glass has turned to sticky goo._

_"Help me" a familiar voice called out faintly for her from the darkness. It sounded muffled, as if it were spoken under water. Lena didn't dare to turn around for a moment, fearing what she'd see. Her limbs were hurting, and she felt her heart race from all the adrenaline coursing through her veins like poison._

_What was this place?_

_It didn't matter. She turned around anyway. Where before only black nothingness had been, a dim light was now illuminating a clear pillar of water._

_It shouldn't have been standing on its own, but somehow it did. The body of water was just standing there, in the nothingness, the surface clear like ice._

_Lena gazed into the transparent liquid for a moment, her heart beating faster and more frantic with every moment passing. Help. She'd love to help. Help whom? Help how?_

_"Help me,_ Süße _. Please help me" the voice called again. Angela's voice. Inside the water. Muffled. Drowning. Pleading. Immediately, Lena stepped closer to the water, in panic trying to see where her best friend was._

_"Angela?" she cried. "Where are you?" Lena yelled into the water. She couldn't see anything inside the dimly lit water. There were mere reflections. A shimmer. A glint. A distorted image of her ashen face. It didn't help._

_For a moment longer, Lena peered into the water with keen eyes, her soul filling with despair._

_And then there was a blonde mane. A flash of gold. Floating in the water was the form of Angela Ziegler, her hair swaying in the water together with her innocent white dress. She was weightless. The deep ocean blue eyes opened wide as she drifted toward Tracer. Slowly, like she had all the time in the world._

_But she was drowning._

_"Help me!" Angela suddenly yelled, her body moving in a frantic manner, bubbles of air rising out of her mouth to the invisible surface._

_Without any hesitation, Lena lunged out to her best friend, her arms reaching deeply inside the ice cold water, desperately trying to get a hold of Angela. But their hands kept missing each other._

_The look of horror and fear on Angela's face grew wider and wider while Lena's attempts to save her friend were only getting more desperate. Hurried. Rushed. Panicked. She had to get her out of there. She needed to help. She was her best friend._

_Finally, she caught Angela at her wrist and tried to pull her out of the water._

_But her best friend was heavy._

_Too heavy._

_And she was slowly sinking into the ice-cold grave, together with Tracer, pulling her down into the depth of the water._

_Her face touched the horribly cold surface, and Lena managed to pull back for what was but a moment to inhale deeply._

_She refused to let go of her best friend, who was sinking into the water, even if it meant she would be dragged into the same depths. She wouldn't let go. She didn't allow herself._

_"Cherié?"_

_NO! Tracer's heart stopped at the thought that Amélie could be in danger, too. Not her. Please not._

_Lena tried to turn around and see who was calling her. She knew who it was. Rationally, she knew, but she also didn't know. The entire scene was extremely hazy. So confusing. Nothing added up. Lena glanced over her shoulder to see the person calling for her._

_Please don't be in trouble. Please be fine. Please don't be drowning._

_No one was there._

_And Lena felt the hand she was holding on to so tightly slip out of her tight grasp._

_She paddled back around, now fully emerged in water, trying to spin her body as fast as possible. But Angela was gone, too. She was nowhere to be seen, and nowhere to be heard. Angela was no more._

_Lena screamed under the tides, violent bubbles gurgling out of her throat. She desperately grabbed into the water in front and around her, trying to find Angela again until the frantic Brit had lost all orientation._

_Mercy wasn't there anymore._

_No matter how much Lena tried to find her again, it didn't help. Yet Lena wouldn't give up. Her breath was running short. Her lungs were burning. Her throat was tightening, begging her to gasp for the nonexistent air. But she didn't give up. She desperately attempted to grab the person she tried to save._

_Suddenly, there was something solid in her hands. Immediately, Lena pulled harshly on whatever it was. As hard as she could._

_She collided with something. It felt like a human._

_And suddenly, all the water was gone. She crashed to the hard ground in complete darkness, coughing violently and soaking wet, with nothing but a single light shining from nowhere on her._

_Tracer held a body in her arms._

_A cold, unmoving, limp body._

_Coughing violently, Tracer dared to open her eyes and look at who she was holding._

_The skin was blue. The golden eyes were open, but they were completely lifeless. Dull, without any spark. Her mouth was agape, water running out of it. She didn't move. Her heart didn't beat._

_She was dead._

_"AMÉLIE!!!!" Tracer yelled at the top of her lungs. Someone just stabbed her through her heart and ripped her soul right out of her. She shattered into a thousand pieces._

Tracer shot up in her bed, ripping the sheets clinging to her sweat-soaked body up with her. She needed a moment to catch her breath and come to realize that she only had a nightmare.

It wasn't real.

The next moment, Lena noticed that she was in a bed inside a room she had never seen before and that she had absolutely no idea how she ended up here. The last thing she remembered was how she closed her eyes on Widowmaker's shoulder the day before.

A soft light on the nightstand was turned on before two cool hands gently wrapped around her " _Chérie_?"  Widow's silent voice asked carefully.

Her sweet scent filled Tracer's nose as she eagerly sucked it into her lungs. It calmed her down faster than anything else could have done in that moment. She turned her head around and peered into Amélie's bright golden eyes. The question of how Lena had ended up in the bed suddenly became superfluous.

"I'm alright" Lena said, shaking her head "It was just a bad dream. I'm alright." she repeated.

Widowmaker simply looked at her for a moment, making sure that her lover was, indeed, fine. Heavens, she knew Lena would exactly be the person to say she was fine when she really was anything but. Amélie gave Lena's lower arms a slight but reassuring squeeze. Like she meant to tell Lena that she was there for her.

"I'll take a shower" Tracer suddenly announced, untangling her from Widow's embrace before she climbed out of the bed and headed for the bathroom. It was _very_ early in the morning, and the sun was not yet up, but the first rays of fragile light were beginning to shimmer in dark hues of orange on the horizon, bringing a warm blotch of color into the cold whites and blues lingering over an ice-cold winter Diskon.

Amélie was left behind in bed, the blanket loosely covering the lap of her otherwise naked body. She blinked once, feeling a little bit abandoned, before she also got out of bed and decisively followed Tracer into the bathroom.

Opening the door silently, Widow saw Lena standing in front of the small bathroom mirror, her hands supporting her weight on the old ceramic sink as she stared her reflection in the eyes.

Her lips were moving, like she was silently talking to herself, but Amélie couldn't understand the words Lena was uttering. The Brit squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and slouched her head, inhaling deeply.

Something was wrong with her lover; Amélie could see it. Feel it. 

Widowmaker carefully placed a hand on the top of Lena's back, right below her neck. She felt the slight shiver which was making Tracer tremble. It wasn't caused by her touch. Lena was shaking.

Her beautiful brown eyes shot open and fixed themselves to Amélie's reflection next to hers.

"What's bothering you, _chérie_?" Amélie asked, gently turning Tracer away from the mirror and toward her so she could look her in the eyes directly. Widow's hands fell to Lena's waist as she pulled her closer.

"It's nothing" Lena said, shaking her head.

Amélie immediately gave the Brit a warning squeeze. "Don't you dare lie to me" she whispered in a hiss. "I'm neither blind nor stupid. What's bothering you, Lena? Was it the dream?"

Tracer hesitated for a moment. She didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want to discuss it. But she had already opened her mouth and said something before she could think anything else. "No.... Yes... In a way." Lena sighed, letting her head sink to Widow's shoulder.

"Talk to me, Lena" Amélie whispered. Lena inhaled sharply, before she just blurted out what was building up inside of her.

"I feel so useless! So weak. After Angela got abducted and I had to leave you, I was completely lost! I wanted to do something so badly, but I couldn't. And I didn't. I didn't do anything. What if that happens again? I don't want anything to happen to you..." Lena tried to explain what she thought as well as she could, but the constricting feeling around her heart was hardly expressible. "I don't want to lose you." she added in nothing but a barely audible whisper, burying her face in the crook of Amélie's cool neck, slowly inhaling the scent that was, without any doubt, her French lover. 

The silence between Widow and Tracer in the following moment was not an uncomfortable one, but a heavy one nevertheless. Widow stared blankly ahead. She needed a second or two before she understood the depth of Tracer's problem. That Lena thought that she had somehow failed Amélie or Angela. That the only two people who she had ever really depended on were suddenly gone. One taken from her, and one involuntarily left behind. She felt guilty for abandoning Widowmaker in Numbani. She felt useless, because she didn't get to help the people she cared for the most. It was typical for Lena. She always wanted to be there for those who needed it. She always tried to help, and she always gave it her all.

But this time Lena couldn't do much. And Amélie understood that it made the Brit feel worthless no matter how wrong that may have been.

"Oh, _chérie_ ," she smiled, hugging the Brit closer to her "You won't ever lose me. No matter what I will always find a way back to you. You did so much for me already. And I am sure for Angela as well. Don't ever think you are useless or weak." Amélie placed a kiss on Tracer's forehead "You are probably the strongest person I know." she said sincerely. "I would not be standing here if it wasn't for you. I would not even _be_ me anymore. I don't expect you to make everything magically better. I never have. You are the only person who gladly accepted me and made me feel wanted. Welcome. You are the only person I will ever want to come back to. You are the only one I _will_ come back to. I promise. You won't ever lose me." She said, pushing Tracer a little bit off of her and looking deeply into her brown eyes. Tears were on the verge of flowing over, and Widow gently wiped them away with her index finger. 

"Because I love you" Widow said seriously, her eyes not leaving Lena's. "And don't ever think otherwise. _Je t'aimerai toujours. Je serai toujours à tes côtés._ " Amélie leaned down and pressed a short innocent kiss on Tracer's lips.

Lena stared at Amélie for a brief moment before her lips twitched slightly. It spread into the widest, goofiest grin Lena had ever worn before as she beamed at Amélie, bright as the daylight sun. She rose to her tiptoes and gave her lover another sweet and tender kiss on her lips.

"I love you, too." Lena hummed, their foreheads still touching. "I can't believe you said it first. I never thought you'd say that... like... ever."

Amélie giggled softly, pulling back from Tracer, and walked over to the combined bathtub and shower. She turned the faucet for the tub on while Lena eyed her carefully as Widow shrugged.

"Actually, you said it first." she stated a little cockily.

"I haven't!" Tracer insisted.

"You have. Yesterday." Widow smirked her trademark, one-sided smirk of doom while she sat down on the edge of the bathtub, crossing one leg over the other. She was still naked, after all, and this position gave her a very sexy posture. "But you were already asleep. It was terribly cute, to be honest" she said, making Lena blush fiercely. Not only because of how drop dead gorgeous her lover looked, but mostly because of what she said.

"That's not fair." Lena complained.

"Mhh. I'm not one for fair play, _chérie_. You know that by now" Widow smiled. "And while we are on the topic of unfair play" she looked down on her naked blue body and then over to Lena "you should get out of those clothes"

"Huh?"

"I am transforming your shower into a bath…with special service." Widow purred seductively while she dipped a finger into the hot water behind her to check the temperature. She looked incredibly sexy doing even such a simple thing. How her slender body moved, the lean muscles underneath her blue skin showing each however slight change of movement. Her eyes never left Lena. "You are still clothed, _chérie_. Why are you still clothed? Strip!"

"Amé-"

"Strip. Now."

Tracer laughed and pulled on her shirt "Yes, Ma'am" she joked, getting out of her clothes while Widowmaker watched.

"You like what you see?" Lena asked as she peeled her knickers off her lithe form.

" _Oui_ " Amélie hummed in agreement, waiting for Tracer to toss her underwear to the side before she guided the bubbly Brit into the bathtub, claiming the place right behind her. The water was just the perfect temperature for a relaxing soak; not too hot, but definitely not too cold either. It was actually just a little too warm for Widow's preference, but she didn't care. She wanted Lena to be comfortable.

Her hands started gliding up the Brit's back, and then rested on her shoulders for a moment before she began to softly knead the tight muscles on that spot. Lena let a sigh of content escape her lips.

"Relax; you deserve it" Amélie said, happy when Tracer eased back into her embrace, leaning against her body. Tracer's head was resting on Amélie's shoulder as the assassin gave her lover a massage while softly nibbling on her ear.

"Mhhh. Why are you so good at this?" Lena wanted to know, closing her eyes and enjoying the sensation of Amélie's cool hands working to help her tense muscles relax.

Widow actually stopped for a moment after this question. "I have no idea. I just do it. And you seem to like it"

"Mhm... Don't stop. Please" Lena sighed, her body completely relaxing against Widowmaker. She felt like she was melting away inside the warm water. Amélie's cool hands were carefully tending to her muscles, making her close her eyes and enjoy the attention.

Amélie couldn't help but smile when she noticed that Tracer was close to falling asleep again. The girl was too cute at times.

But it was understandable that she was exhausted. Lena had been awake for too long to not be fatigued now. What little sleep she had gotten tonight was barely enough. And apparently it was also barely relaxing.

 

-/-

A couple of rooms down the hallway and a few hours later, Angela Ziegler was stepping out of her shower. The third one she took in the last couple of hours.

There  was the quick one she grabbed right before collapsing into her bed.

She took one after she had woken up in the middle of the night feeling filthy for some reason.

And she had just taken one now after she had gotten up.

It did take these three showers and some _very_ intense scrubbing and cleaning to feel clean again. Luckily, there was lots and lots of steaming hot water. Mercy really needed her shower boiling hot for the first time in her life. Usually, Angela enjoyed cold showers. She always thought they were a lot more refreshing than hot ones. But when she had turned on the water with a nice cool temperature, just like she was used to, and stepped under the thick rain for the first time since Talon captured her, she immediately jumped back out of the cabin again. The second the first drops of icy water touched her head, she was back on board the freighter, hanging from the ceiling, her head being submerged in ice water.

Angela was glad that she was alone in this moment, because she felt pathetic. She was unable to take a cold shower anymore. She told herself that it wouldn't stay this way forever and that she'd be able to overcome what happened to her. But she wasn't stupid. And on top of not being stupid, she was an excellent doctor. Mercy knew better than anyone that she'd need time above all other things.

So, she turned the faucet to the other side, heating the water to a barely tolerable level. It was painful.

But it didn't bring any bad memories.

Which was way less painful than the hot water.

And now Mercy looked at herself in the mirror, the white cotton towel wrapped tightly around her slender body showing just a little bit of cleavage. Her blonde mane wasn't wet, but damp, so she just let it hang over her shoulders the way they were.

Sighing, she turned away from the bathroom mirror and walked into the main room. She needed to get ready. They were going to be picked up in nearly two hours now. Tossed over a chair in her bedroom were the clothes Mercy wore the day before; the Talon uniform Widowmaker provided for her.

Angela picked it up and was about to slip into it, but then she noticed how filthy the damn uniform had gotten from the little time she wore it. It was dirty, and sweaty, and the simple underwear Amélie got for her was covered with old blood. Angela couldn't shower before she slipped into the white garments. Her old blood from the things Montgomery did to her completely ruined the underwear.

While Mercy stood there to consider her options, someone knocked heavily on the door. Funny how Angela could rather easily determine the size of a person by the way they knocked on a door. And that was definitely a big person knock. Which meant that the person standing outside her hotel room door could have only been one.

"Excuse me, Dr. Ziegler?" Zarya's voice called out.

"Come in" Mercy said, quickly checking if the towel which was wrapped around her body was still in place.

The door opened, and Zarya carefully entered Mercy's room, carrying a stack of things. "And please" Mercy said with a smile "don't call me Dr. Ziegler. Angela is just fine. Or Mercy, if you want to"

"Alright" Zarya returned the smile, albeit a bit insecure, maybe not overly comfortable with walking in on the doctor in a towel. "I have some fresh clothes for you. They should be your size, I hope."

"Thank you," Mercy nodded "I just ran into that problem."

"I see. Well, my grandmother prepared a small breakfast for us, so please come and join us whenever you are ready."

"Is everyone else already there?" Mercy wanted to know, taking the clothes from Zarya and placing them on her bed. It seemed like simple a wardrobe. Black pants and a white shirt, but Angela didn't care so long as she got some fresh things to wear.

"McCree and Genji are already there. Tracer and our new Talon friend are I don't know where. Lena isn't in her room. She might be checking on the assassin" Zarya shrugged.

The words sunk into Angela for a moment.

"She might be" she said with a certain spark in her eyes. Angela hoped Tracer didn't pick a fight. Actually, she hoped she _did_ pick a fight rather than the alternative. "I guess I'll search for and bring those two along as soon as I find them. Thank you, Zarya"

"No problem."

-/-

Meanwhile, in Amélie's room, she and Tracer made it back to the bed a little while ago. Lena had finally relaxed after a wonderful massage and some mind blowing _extra_ service before she and Widow got out of the tub, drying each other off prior to heading back to bed. They didn't bother with clothing as they had cuddled in each other's arms and Lena might have dozed off for another hour or so, sleeping against Amélie's shoulder, her unruly brown hair slightly tickling Widow's neck.

She didn't mind. Lena's body was warm and comfortable against hers, despite the chronal accelerator. She could feel the younger girl’s heart beat and hear soft breath against her skin. Amélie didn't find sleep again. She just enjoyed Lena's warmth against her own.

This would be the future now, wouldn't it? Amélie hoped it would. Never in her life had she felt such peace in her heart. The thought of ever missing it again seemed unbearable now.

A couple of minutes ago Tracer had woken up again and found herself magically drawn to the pulse point on her lover's neck. She started placing careful kisses up toward the jaw line, getting a happy hum as a reply from Widow.

Lena shuffled under the blankets, moving to sit on top of Widow and leaned down to kiss her on the lips. It started out rather innocently, but quickly grew into a series of hasty, needy, and rather sloppy exchanges. She yanked Widow up from the bed, wrapping her arms around her back and burying her hands in Amélie's loose hair. She had let it down after the bath.

The two lovers were so caught up in the moment, so busy with themselves, that neither one of them heard or noticed the knock on the door.

Which was strange, since Widowmaker had excellent senses in every way, including hearing. But she didn't hear anything. Her ears were ringing from the rush of excitement she felt each time she touched Lena. Her insides were boiling, and it felt simply incredible. She wanted more. Again. It was like an insatiable hunger, a primal desire, and something she _had_ to do without any choice. Her hands grabbed Tracer's firm butt cheeks and gave them a tight squeeze, sending Tracer a bit upward, moaning into Amélie's mouth.

What they did hear, however, was Angela's voice.

"What the hell are you doing!?" she shrieked.

Tracer almost jumped into the ceiling, she was so startled. But, since that was not really possible, she instead jumped off Widowmaker, simultaneously pulling at the covers, trying to get _Amélie_ beneath them and cover _her_ up. Lena was much more concerned with her lover's decency than her own, it seemed. It wasn't like Mercy hadn't seen her naked before.

"Angela, luv! W-What are you doing here?" Tracer stammered, looking at an infuriated Mercy, who was standing no more than two steps in front of the bed, her hands pressed to her hips. "I swear this isn't what it looks like!" Lena tried. She had no idea why she felt the urge to say that, but she could feel some major accusation from Mercy rolling her way already.

Amélie next to her just snorted, slightly bemused. She was running on autopilot, not really knowing what to do. So, her cocky side naturally took over. "I bet it looked like sex, _chérie_. Which we almost had. Again."

"Again?" Angela asked in a dangerously low tone "Again!?" she repeated, staring Tracer down " _Verdammt,_ Lena, you are more dick-driven than a horny teen boy and you don't even _have_ a dick! What are you thinking?! Have you stopped to consider for even a moment that the girl you are bedding may have been through literally hell before she got here? Did it occur to you that Amélie might not be the right person to work your charm on _now_ of all the times _?!_ Dammit, Lena, you know how irresistible you can be! But you just _had_ to use it on someone whose life has been nothing but _abuse_ until now!" Mercy was speaking loudly, but at least tried to keep it at household noise level.

Widowmaker tried to interrupt, actually a bit surprised that Mercy was giving Lena a hard time for this. The doctor was being protective of her, wasn't she? No one else had ever been protective of her. Not even Tracer; at least not like this. But Amélie was perfectly capable of deciding these things on her own. Especially since this was hardly their first time. But Mercy was on a roll, and Amélie didn't get a chance to speak up.

"Can't you see how that would affect someone? They did unspeakable things to her! And then you come around being all cute and friendly, am I right? _Teufel noch eins,_ I would be in her place now if you'd hit on me right after I came back. And I _know_ you better than anyone. Is that any indication for you?!" Mercy was mad. Lena was her best friend, yes. But she could be so inconsiderate at times. So careless. When she wanted something, or better, someone, she just went and took it with little to no thought for what it did to the other person.

And while Angela usually had no problem with that - she actually found it amusing most of the time how Lena was able to rile up girls to a point where they doubted their own preferences, just to leave them hanging  - this time was different.

This time, Lena went too far. She just had to target the one woman Angela considered herself in debt to. Yes, they had a deal, but Mercy still felt the urge to watch out for Amélie. The French assassin did so much for Angela. And while she never got tired of mentioning that she did it for someone else, Angela still considered herself Amélie's friend; maybe the only friend she would have at Overwatch for some time. She wanted Widowmaker to feel welcome where they were going to go, because Angela was certain that no one else would. At least, not in the beginning. Angela would work on improving that; on proving to people that Amélie was not the ruthless killer everyone saw her as.

Finding her in bed with Tracer now was surely no part of that idea. She was _not_ the right person for being one of Lena's one-time conquests, but Angela was sure that her best friend didn't understand the importance of this. Angela didn't even want to think about how much damage Tracer did with this. Mercy had seen a very fragile side of Amélie. A side very much receptive to emotions and to kindness. A side which longed for a place she could belong to.

Angela was mad, because she thought Tracer broke through exactly that point and used it to her advantage.

"Luv, I really _care_ about her. She means the world to me! Would you calm down, please?" Tracer tried, but Angela didn't listen completely.

"You don't know what it means to care about her, Lena!" Mercy turned to the blue-skinned assassin "Amélie, I warned you of her. I just wanted to make sure you feel welcome here. Did you really want this? You said you only helped me because it would mean something for someone else. You said there is someone special to you, so why-?"

Angela stopped herself at the slight smile which spread over Amélie's face and how Tracer looked away, covered in scarlet. Then, Widowmaker reached out for Lena's hand and intertwined their fingers gently. It was a subconscious move, and one that happened on its own. Their hands melted together.

And then it hit Mercy like a speeding train. Right in the face.

 _'I am not doing this for you. I am doing it for someone else.'_ Amélie had said.

Mercy's safety obviously meant a lot to Tracer. Widow was in bed with her now. Smiling like she waited a long time for that reunion.

There was an image rapidly forcing its way into Angela's mind. An image she refused to acknowledge.

" _Nein._ " she breathed " _Nein._ I don't believe that. That's impossible!" she shook her head adamantly.

"Mercy, this has been going on for a while. We have been seeing each other for months." Amélie smiled. "Don't blame her for something she didn't do. I know you mean well, but I can take care of myself. I'm not that dense, and neither am I that easy. The last person who hit on me out of the blue got his neck broken by yours truly." Widow said with a shrug.

Angela was shaking her head "I don't believe it. You don't need to cover her, you know? I mean, you are two adult women. It's none of my business" Angela tried, obviously not really able to cope with the entire situation. "Just don't hurt her, Lena, ok? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let myself in." Mercy said, rubbing her hands together awkwardly.

"Luv-" Tracer started, but was cut off by her lover, who apparently had a better idea.

"Let me, _chérie_." Widow said, giving the hand in hers a careful squeeze. "Angela, do me a favor and open the bag on that chair over there" Amélie said, nodding toward the black sports bag.

"Why?" Angela wanted to know, dumbstruck. This was too much for her. Lena. Amélie. What they claimed. What Angela thought was true. It all came together at the same time. Too much information. She felt lost, like she didn't really understand what was happening anymore. Was _Tracer_ really the person Widow did this for? Were they telling the truth? Did she save her just to gain Tracer's attention? Why? And for what reason?

Mercy didn't find the least bit sense in her entire world anymore. So, she just walked over to the bag Amélie told her to open. It was the same bag Widow had used during their escape to carry all their equipment. It was sitting on a chair in front of a small table. Resting on top of the table was Widowmaker's rifle in sniper mode, a venom mine, a couple of magazines, and Tracer's plasma pistols, neatly sitting next to each other.

Mercy focused her attention to the black sports bag.

Quickly zipping the bag open, Angela spread the two halves of the zipper apart and peered inside.

Plastic explosives.

Great, that was surely not what Widow wanted her to see. She shuffled the countless bricks of yellow-ish modeling clay-like substance to the side before she came across two datapads and a couple of dossiers. Those were most likely her and Amélie's medical files from Talon. Angela took them out and set them on the table for now. She might have been confused, but she was still a responsible woman and doctor. She couldn't let them sit here; these documents were important. Angela needed to look into them. She would do that during their flight back to Gibraltar. No need to leave them in there if she could help it.

"Not what I meant" Amélie said from the bed. Of course it wasn't what she meant. "There is a shirt inside. The one I took from you on the freighter, remember?"

Mercy perked up an eyebrow, but said nothing as she searched for said shirt inside the bag. Indeed, she remembered the shirt Widow immediately snatched from her hands when she pulled it out of the bag. She seemed rather protective of it, come to think of it.

After some more digging around, Angela found the grey piece of cotton.

"That's it. Take a look at it." Widow instructed, and Angela noticed how Tracer whispered something into her ear. Amélie's answer was a firm nod, and Tracer giggled silently. 

Spreading the grey cotton out her eyes registered something in Mercy, which her brain didn't process correctly.

Imprinted on the front side of the shirt was an old and completely washed out imprint. It showed a large light blue circle framed in gold leaves with a crown on top of it. The British crown to be precise. Inside the circle was a red double-armed cross on a white background. Inside the blue circle, black letters on the top side read 'No. 41 Squadron', and on the bottom side 'Royal Air Force'. Underneath the whole circle with the crown on top of it was a banner with a motto on it. 'Seek and Destroy'.

 _Oh, that used to be Lena's squadron while she was still with the RAF._ Angela thought as she looked at the shirt for a long moment before realization struck and she almost dropped the fabric.

Flaunted right into her face was, indeed, the coat of arms of Lena's old fighter squadron. That wasn't the bad thing. Mercy had seen shirts like this countless times before; she had even worn them on numerous occasions herself. Tracer's wardrobe basically consisted of old air force merchandise. That alone wasn't the bad thing. But it did take Angela a few moments to process that this shirt wasn't found in Tracer's closet. Nor was it one of the shirts the bubbly Brit forgot at Angela's place, or at the headquarter, or anywhere else for that matter.

No, this shirt came straight out of _Widowmaker's_ sports bag. But it was, without any doubt, Lena's. It had the right size. It had aged exactly like all the other shirts she had did. And it...

Hell, it even _smelled_ like Lena.

Yet, it was in Amélie's bag. And it had already been there when they were still on board the Talon ship. It was the _only_ personal item Widowmaker brought along. The _only_ one.

And in that very moment the whole puzzle Angela had in front of her eyes for a time now suddenly clicked together. Each and every confusing piece suddenly came together and created an absolutely clear picture.

And it started months ago. Just like they had claimed.

The phone call Lena gave her in the middle of the night a few months ago asking for help? Someone was shot, but Lena said she couldn't go to a hospital. The woman in Lena's bed that night was none other than Widowmaker.

A few days later, Angela had visited Lena in her London apartment. The message left by a mysterious French woman, written in her native language with lipstick on the mirror? She had called Lena _chérie_ in that message. Widowmaker.

 _"She is having a bit of legal trouble. It's not her fault or anything..."_ Tracer told her. Definitely Widowmaker. Though that would have meant Tracer already knew what happened to Amélie. How did she know? Did she... did she take a look at the ancient files no one bothered with anymore?

 _"I am not doing this for you"_ Amélie said when she busted Angela's ass out. She didn't understand at the time. But now, Mercy understood perfectly. Widow did it for Lena. To help the best friend of...

 _"My heart belongs to someone else. For her, I'd go through this hell all over again" ..._ of her lover.

When they met, for what Angela supposed was the first time, they weren't really hostile toward each other. At least, not the way enemies should be. Lena tried to seem cool, but something had struck Mercy as odd.

When Amélie said she and Tracer _did_ know each other already, her voice was almost soft. She didn't get the chance to say something, but it was part of the reason she decided to give Amélie a heads up about Tracer being a ladykiller.

There was a smile flashing over Widow's lips after she said it. Angela should have noticed. But she didn't.

And now the two of them were in bed together.

Mercy walked right in on them, and the first thing she did was blame Tracer for something Angela had no way of knowing. No way of understanding.

She felt so stupid. Lena and Amélie were an item. How did she not see that sooner? Why did she explode into Lena's face like that? Mercy just wanted to protect Amélie from harm. Just wanted to make sure she felt welcome and was alright. Her expression should have told her everything, but Angela just saw her best friend on top of Widow and immediately jumped to conclusions.

Angela let the shirt sink, and turned around to face her best friend and her lover.

"I am sorry, Lena." she said silently.

"Yeah" Tracer replied with a slightly hurt voice "I'm not that bad, you know?"

"Yes, you are" Widow whispered with a smug smile.

A long and heavy silence spread in between the three women while Angela apparently worked hard to sort through her thoughts. She had a lot to consider all of a sudden as the past weeks and months flashed past her mental eye. Angela was searching for every small hint and clue she could find. It was all there. It all made sense all of a sudden. And no matter how many rules Tracer violated, how many regulations she ignored, and how stupid she had been to maneuver herself in such danger, Angela found herself only capable of asking one question. 

"Are you two happy together?" Angela wanted to know, setting the shirt aside. "Like, really happy? Is this what you want?"

" _Oui_ " was the instant reply from Amélie while Tracer just nodded silently with a serious expression on her lips. Silence was the best indicator that Lena was serious about something. 

Mercy merely nodded a little sadly. She had absolutely _no_ right to say something against this. Not that she felt the need to do so. It was an odd couple. But Angela could see perfectly how they would fit together.

"You could have told me, you know? Both of you. It's not like I know how it happened, but I think I understand."

"Yeah..." Tracer looked away awkwardly. "You know, I always thought that letting you know would only cause you trouble. I didn't want you to worry."

"I did worry, you dork" Angela shook her head. "You were acting strangely all the time! And Amélie, you could have told me on board that freighter. It would have made things a bit easier."

"We promised not to tell anyone. So, I didn't tell anyone. I didn't want to reveal this without asking Lena first." There was such unfiltered, almost brutal loyalty in Amélie's voice in that moment that Angela was actually taken slightly aback. The Swiss doctor merely nodded. What was she going to do about those two? What was she going to say?

The look in their eyes, the one Angela had so carelessly missed when she walked into the room, was now standing out a mile. They were more than just attracted to each other. Their whole body language; how they looked at each other every few seconds and how they tried to maintain a certain amount of body contact with each other told Dr. Ziegler everything she needed to know.

Back in London, Mercy _thought_ she understood what was going on with Tracer. ' _I love her'_ the Brit had confessed back then.

And now, finally, she _really_ understood.

"Zarya's grandmother has prepared a breakfast, I'll sneak something up for the two of you, should you want to eat something else other than each other." Mercy smiled, turning to the door. "I won't tell anyone. So, let me know if you need something."

"Thanks, luv" Tracer beamed.

"Sorry again" Mercy replied before she slipped through the door.

There was a moment of silence before Tracer spoke up again.

"She took it a lot better than I expected."

"She blamed you for taking advantage of me" Amélie looked at Lena with a slightly puzzled expression "How is that good in any way?"

Lena just giggled.

"You saved her. And it seems you made it onto her list of people she considers family. Of course she'd chew me out for daring to mess with you. She gives me crap all the time. It's how she is. That's Angela for you. She is hyper protective of those she considers her family."

"You aren't mad?"

"Nah. She's right, you know? I would have seduced you even if I hadn't known you before." Lena smiled one of her goofiest smiles to date.

"And you think you would have succeeded with that, _chérie_?" Amélie hummed, leaning over to Tracer to capture her lips with her own. Lena gave in for a moment, but then pulled away.

"What do you say we wait until we get our breakfast. I don't want to give Angela another heart attack. Think you can hold back for a few minutes?"

"I make no such promises"

-/-

**Watchpoint: Gibraltar, 12 hours earlier.**

Morrison had just walked out of his shuttle and into the hangar of the Watchpoint when his phone went off.

He groaned and reached for his device.

"Morrison." he said plainly.

"You ordered a loyal assassin and a decent medical professional to go? Both are packed up and on their way" Reaper's growl betrayed a rather good mood.

Morrison checked his watch.

" _What?_ " he spit.

"Widowmaker busted the blonde cunt out. Surprising, I know, but that happened. She blew the whole freighter and the tank ship, too."

"Holy." Morrison was actually rather surprised, for a moment his fast steps faltered before he picked his usual speed back up. He did _not_ expect that. "I guess Tracer did better work than we thought."

"Apparently." Reaper agreed. "Do you think they will run into your rescue squad?"

"Most likely"

"Good. Then they'll be on their way to you soon enough. Dr. Ziegler is clean. They didn't succeed with her. Widowmaker might be trouble; be careful with her if you want to avoid unnecessary damage. Be careful, but be sure to make it convincing, you know?"

"Yeah. I have something planned. But I do need Ziegler at peak performance soon. Any tips for Widow?"

"She can take a hit. But don't cook her too long if you want to share the loyalty she has for that damn Brit with someone else too. She would have died on that freighter if it meant she could die remembering. It was actually a bit scary."

"And that coming out of your mouth."

"Indeed. Listen, I got a few things you might want to look into. Two things, actually."

"I'm all ears."

"First of all, are you familiar with Katya Volskaya?"

"The CEO of Volskaya Industries, yes. Why?"

"Pay her a visit."

"Elimination?"

"Acquisition. I'll give you the details later. Just say hi and let her know you are there. She will contact you after that at some point, I am sure of it."

"Consider it done. And the second thing?" Morrison wanted to know as he finally arrived in his office. He had to talk rather silently while he made his way through the corridors so no one would accidentally overhear his conversation with Reaper.

"Ah yes, that is where it's getting _really_ interesting. I have been digging around quite a bit and have found some very interesting things concerning _the mission_."

"I feel major news incoming" Morrison said.

"Indeed. But we'll have to go way back into the past. Listen. Do you remember what caused the first Omnic-crisis?" Reaper asked.

Morrison raised an eyebrow, being a little confused where his old friend was going with this, but he still played along. Reyes would never bring this up without a reason

"The first God-Program named Hephaestus" he replied.

Thinking back to that disaster was something Jack could have lived without. The first god-program known to mankind claimed hundreds of thousands of lives with what it did to the Omnics who, up until that moment, were nothing but a peaceful working force. Until Hephaestus breached through their quantum-encrypted security protocols and started changing the results of certain equations, indoctrinating them with a twisted idea of freedom. A freedom which would only be obtainable by wiping out all of mankind.

Quarantining Hephaestus was the top priority and one of the reasons Overwatch was created in the first place. Yet, this particular task was impossible to achieve, no matter how many years Overwatch has tried to accomplish this goal. The first god-program was not containable. Its networking capabilities and tendency to spread into any device it could find made it the ultimate escape artist. It could restore its entire programming from only tiny amounts of code, which enabled it to hide on basically any device with some form of memory, however small. Keycards, Car-keys, Memory-sticks, ID-chips. Everything could be used.

Containing was impossible, so Overwatch resorted to destroying Hephaestus…which didn't work the way everyone imagined either. As soon as the god-program realized what was happening, it started splitting itself into many sub-programs before it destroyed itself. From then on, various different god-programs started popping up all over the world wherever someone plugged a contaminated device into something with more computing-power.

There were many incidents with these devastating god-programs, some less severe than others. But they all had one thing in common: each time a god-program activated itself the capabilities and the intelligence of the Omnic hive mind in the affected cluster multiplied a thousand fold; as did their pugnacity. The most severe incident in history was the program called Jormungand, which activated itself inside a factory for autonomous defense robots at the German Polish border. The Bastion-units originally developed and built for peacekeeping duties and, for long years, the most effective defense platform against the Omnics turned against their masters in the blink of an eye. Jormungand ripped their core programming apart like it was wet toilet paper, and indoctrinated them with a raging hatred against all humanity. Death tolls were astronomical, rising into the millions after only two weeks despite the fiercest of resistance the German and Polish military put up against Jormungand's Omnics. They didn't stand a chance, even when the German army activated the, up until this day, top secret Crusader-program and sent their genetically enhanced super-soldiers under the command of Balderich von Adler into battle, they were fighting a lost cause. The crusaders were at least able to stand their ground, but driving the Omnics back was impossible; even for them. At the end of the day, the United Nations ordered a tactical nuclear strike which was carried out by the Russian Federation five weeks after Jormungand's activation, ending the crisis with a final death toll of more than four million casualties across central Europe, both civilian and military.

It was _hell._

Ever since Jormungand, the incidents with god-programs weren't _that_ horrible. The last case was the Anubis god program in Egypt, where a low level worker accidentally plugged an infected memory stick into the quantum super computer at a secret military research facility deep beneath the Giza Plateau. This fatal action allowed a tiny fragment of hibernating Hephaestus code to rebuild itself, creating Anubis. Luckily, the Helix Security Team positioned at Giza Plateau managed to contain the program before any _major_ catastrophe could develop; at least, if the loss of the entire civilian population of the Giza Plateau isn't considered a major catastrophe. Now, the still running and fully functional Anubis is being examined by experts for artificial intelligence, cut off from all access to the outside world.

Reaper made a sound of agreement. He too remembered the fight against Hephaesus' Omnics. They weren't fond memories, so much was certain. He lost many good men to those damn tin cans. "And I guess you know where Hephaestus came from?" he inquired. 

"Well, officially it was written by a Finnish student named Åke Väinö, who had connections to the anarchistic underground. He wanted the Omnics to rebel against the establishment. Essentially, Hephaestus was a self-learning virus for Omnics which got out of hand."

"Yeah" Reaper agreed "That is the _official_ version. Väinö vehemently denied knowing of the program’s existence. He also denied having written it…or even having the required skill to do it. Considering how Väinö was a first year college student, his claims seemed reasonable."

Morrison sighed, scratching his head while he plopped down in his office chair.

"If it wasn't for the written confession he signed some hours before he was found dead in his cell because of _suicide_."

"Precisely" Reaper said.

"We all know the story is fishy, but what are you getting at?" Morrison wanted to know. He still had no idea what Reyes was talking about or what it had to do with their mission.

"Well, in the aftermath of the first Omnic attack vast areas of very resource-rich and now unoccupied territories were bought for almost nothing by a company called 'Clockwork International', who specialized in providing valuable raw materials"

"So, someone made serious money because of the attack. How is that important?"

"Did you know that Väinö was an employee at Clockwork while he was at university? And that they found the Hephaestus code on his work-terminal at home?"

"I didn't" Morrison said "You think they just used him as scapegoat?"

"Of course they did. And when his arguments became too reasonable, and his skills proved  to be useless for creating something like a god-program, they killed him and left the written confession"

"But the investigation was led by-" Morrison stopped himself from talking further.

"Overwatch. Indeed. No one had access to Väinö's cell except for five high ranking Overwatch agents, you and me included. Thanks to my little raid on Athena, and the file you so kindly provided, I now have the names of those agents. I will send them to you soon. "

"Are you saying an Overwatch-agent killed Väinö? Why?"

"Well, apart from the obvious money cliché? I don't know. But about that 'Clockwork International' thing."

"I do remember that name from somewhere. I saw it recently" Morrison said, but he could not remember where and in what context.

"Talon's swimming bases have been originally acquired by the same company" Reaper said.

"Yeah, now I remember! The tank-ship waiting at Diskon was also registered under Clockwork. That's right."

"Clockwork International is Talon's legal facade. I dug around, and it's true. They are washing money with it and use it for public interactions. Clockwork _is_ Talon. And that makes another option highly likely; not just the money thing. I doubt any of the Overwatch agents involved would have been corrupt."

"One of those five agents is the mole we have been searching for." Morrison concluded, a light dawning on him.

"Probably, yes. Thing is, apart from the two of us, they are all already dead. At least, as far as we know, You and I were dead for a while too, after all."

"I need the names of the agents." Morrison stated. "I'll see what I can find out"

"I'll send you the list. It's not certain they were the direct source of everything. Maybe someone was acting on orders from the real mole. But if we find out who it was, we might be able to track their contact within Talon. I am sure this will lead us _somewhere_." Reaper replied. This was a major step in their mission, a major advancement, and hopefully the beginning of the end. All the tiny pieces Reyes and Morrison had been collecting over the years were starting to fall into place. Slowly, but at least they were moving. "I have been granted an audience with the big boss in a few weeks. Maybe I will be able to shine more light onto this matter"

"A _personal_ audience with the head?"

"It sure seems like it, yes."

"Why now?" Morrison asked. He was aware that Reyes tried to get through to the head of Talon for quite some time now, but was never successful. Figuring out who was behind everything was of the utmost importance.

"That I do not know. He said he wanted to speak to me about an urgent affair. I guess his shady master plan we have been working for so hard to make it happen finally comes to an end."

"That is good to know" Morrison nodded, relieved. "Anything else?"

"Not for now" Reaper said. "I'll be in touch."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well ladies and gentleman, that's it for today. I know there was a long wait between this and the previous chapter, but I really struggled with this chapter on top of being really stressed out at University.  
> To say it in clear words, I started this chapter four times from 0 before I remotely liked what I did. It's just thanks to my awesome Beta-reader and his encouragement that i even published it and didn't re-work it a fifth time. 
> 
> If you want to support the story, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction
> 
>  
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Je t'aimerai toujours. Je serai toujours à tes côtés. = (French) I'll always love you. I'll always be at your side.
> 
> Teufel noch eins = (German) (approx.) Hell


	23. Pilots and Snipers

**Diskon, Federation of Russia, 30 Minutes until pickup.**

"Calm down, _chérie._ You won't find it like this" Amélie said carefully, watching Tracer dash about the room in a frantic search of something she apparently lost. Widow still hadn't figured out what it even was or why it was so important.

"It's gone. It can't be gone. I need it." Tracer replied hastily, jumping around the room desperately searching for whatever item she was missing. She moved to the bed and began working her way through it, hoping it may be there.

"Maybe if you tell me what you’re searching _for_ , I could help you. We don't have much time, you know?" Widow told her. She pushed herself off the small table in the room where she had been waiting for Lena to calm down and began closing the distance between the two of them.

"I know!" Tracer replied, turning away from the bed and apparently intent on searching another place "But I'm not leaving without it"

"Without what, _chérie_?" Amélie, dressed in her trademark cat suit again moved to intercept Tracer, caching her by the shoulders and turning the girl around to face her. "What are you searching for?" she asked, peering into her eyes.

Lena felt the golden glare on her and couldn't help but stare back at her lover. She took a few deep breaths before she allowed herself to calm down again. Freaking out now would get her exactly nowhere. Also, Amélie was right; if she told her what she was looking for, they could search together. Pointing at her left ear she said "One is missing. One of their rings."

Widowmaker blinked.

"You get this upset over one of your earrings?" she asked in confusion. She wasn't really used to the whole _normal_ world outside of Talon; outside of only being released for killing people and then being put through memory-reconditioning every two month. Normal things were rather new to Amélie. They _felt_ familiar, but she didn't remember most of the time. Despite that, even to Widowmaker, the loss of an earring didn't seem to be a world-changing event. You could always buy new ones, no?

Lena shook her head, looking really depressed.

"They aren't just any earrings. They aren't even earrings to begin with" she stammered "I... I... They are all that is left of them." The memory of what happened was an old, but well-healed scar. Nevertheless, it still hurt like hell to think back to that fateful day. She inhaled sharply, trying to maintain her composure, and actually managed to barely pull it off, despite her trembling jaw and burning eyes. She didn't like thinking back to that day. That day a long, long time ago. 

"Lena? You ok?" Amélie asked, guiding the younger woman to sit down on the edge of the bed before she sat next to her, one hand carefully draped around her back, the other gingerly touching her thigh.

Tracer looked at her hands for a long moment before she opened her mouth and, without even thinking about it, she started telling Amélie one, if not the most, private detail of her life.

"I got them from my parents... In a way, I guess. They were their wedding bands. From my real, biological parents; not my adoptive parents." Lena said and paused for a moment. She hadn't told this to anyone apart from her best friends, and Angela was the only one she still had contact with who knew. Even most of her few previous, serious partners didn't know. Lena just always thought it was nobody’s concern. Yet, for some reason, she wanted Amélie to know. And so, she told her what happened when she was still a little girl. When the ever-cheerful Lena Oxton was still nothing but an overexcited kid, her bright and eventful future nothing but a distant vision. A vision no one would have ever dreamt of.

Widowmaker thought of how to respond, but she couldn't come up with anything. She didn't know, of course. She saw how it affected Lena and really wanted to feel with her, but Amélie couldn't. As much as she tried, she couldn't remember her own parents if her life depended on it, let alone the feeling of having parents in the first place. The French lady just squeezed Lena's thigh in a reassuring manner, hoping it would be enough.

"When I was five years old my parents had to move. I can't remember where anymore, but it was rather far away. My father had packed everything we had into the car and wanted to get going early in the morning, but something came up. No idea what it was, but for some reason we started our trip around midday. My papa was driving the entire way, and it was beginning to get dark. We were driving through the night, but I wasn't worried. I remember not being worried, because my father was a really good driver. That's what everyone always said. My dad always did the driving. Everyone liked going with him. So, I wasn't afraid or anything." Lena pressed out a sad laugh, which sounded a lot like a painful snort.

"Our car got hit by a drunk driver on the highway exit. The driver of the other car mistook the exit for the entrance. He crashed right into us. His car started burning, I remember. I was in the backseat of our car, desperately trying to wake my mother up. She didn't wake up. I started yelling at her, shaking her, punching her even. But she didn't wake up. I yelled at my father and he _did_ regain his consciousness. It took him a moment to process what happened. Looking back on it, he was the calmest, bravest man I have ever seen. He told me to look at him, and only him. He said I needed to stay calm and that mommy would wake up soon." Lena inhaled sharply, feeling thick drops of tears building in her eyes and falling down over her freckled cheeks. She remembered that moment so clearly, like it was only yesterday. Her father was her idol when she was younger. She always wanted to be like him. He was the kindest soul, always there for everyone, always doing what he could for those who needed him. He didn't deserve what happened to him.

"Of course, she didn't wake up. She was already dead. The entire engine smashed into the passenger compartment. She didn't stand a chance" she choked. "But I didn't know that back then. I didn't understand it either. Hell, I was five years old. I hardly understood what had happened. A few other motorists had stopped in the meantime, and my father yelled at them to free me out of the car. The fire from the other car had spread to ours. The front was already engulfed in flames. But I didn't want to go. I refused to leave my mom _asleep_ in the car. I kept telling them that my mother was not waking up and that they needed to help my dad. They had to force me out of the burning car." Lena's voice faltered.

"I... I had to watch while my father burned alive inside that damn car" Lena whispered, slouching her head. "I thought I heard my father scream for a moment. The firefighters arrived two minutes later, but it was too late."

"I'm so sorry" Amélie whispered. She felt horrible for not being able to feel for Lena. She just couldn't. Widowmaker was unable to understand why Tracer was so terribly sad. Talon took that ability from her a long time ago. All she could do was feel terrible because Tracer did. Lena was important to her and she was hurting. That made Amélie, in return, feel almost the same pain. Not knowing what she should do otherwise, she pulled Lena into a gentle hug.

"I was just standing there. Alone. A girl whose family was taken from her in the blink of an eye. The emergency doctor who arrived on the crash site first took me in afterwards. He and his wife had lost a daughter in the chaos of the Omnic wars. So, he gave me a new home and a new family. A few weeks later he sat me down on the kitchen table and told me that he had something for me. He gave me the rings of my parents and made me promise to always look out for them. To always protect them so I never forgot who they were and where I come from." Lena smiled sadly "My parents didn't have a lot of money, you know? Their rings were only gold plated. It burned off in that fire. So, they’re silver now. It's all I have left of them."

"Why do you wear them as earrings?" Amélie wanted to know, causing Lena to choke out what could have been a cheerful laugh if the memories weren't so painful.

"They didn't fit onto my tiny fingers when I got them. But I wanted to have them with me at any time. He made me promise to look out for them, after all. I put them in the same ear so they'll always be together," she explained, reaching up to her ear and removing the single remaining one of her two earrings. Turning it inside her fingers for a moment, she gave it to Amélie "That one was my mothers." she told her.

Widow turned the ring around. It really was a very simple ornament. But on the inside, it had a sophisticated inscription ' _Your Thomas. Wherever and Forever._ '

 _Wherever and Forever._ These words left a sting in Amélie's heart. It reminded her a lot of the bond she felt for Thomas Oxton's daughter.

Before she could say anything, there was a knock on the door. Not a moment later, it opened and Mercy quickly slipped inside

"I hope you are both decent" she announced.

" _Oui._ " Widow rolled her eyes when Mercy simply let herself in. It wouldn't have made much difference if they weren't.

"What are you two up to?" Angela wanted to know, walking up to Lena and Amélie sitting close to each other on the edge of the bed. Her eyes fell on the ring in Widow's hand, and she noticed that Tracer's ear lacked two of her most distinct features. She also noticed her puffy eyes and how she quickly moved to wipe away her tears. "Oh" was all Mercy said. She was well aware of what her best friend’s earrings meant and what they really were.

"I lost one" Lena said, like she had lost part of herself.

"Did you have it yesterday evening?" Angela wanted to know. Tracer nodded. She was relatively certain that it had been still in her ear yesterday. "Then it should be somewhere in this room, _ja?_ " Mercy concluded, putting a finger to her chin in a pose that reassembled Sherlock Holmes in a rather striking fashion. "So, no time to waste. Let's search it. Lena, you take the bathroom. I'll take this half of the room" Mercy gestured toward the portion with the bed in it "And Amélie, you take the other one" she said. Widow raised a skeptical eyebrow at her.

Mercy hesitated for a moment, contemplating her plan once again.

"Ok, we switch. You take the half with the bed in, I take the other half." she announced.

-/-

Widowmaker walked into the lobby a few minutes later, wearing a smug grin and carrying her black sports bag. She had left Angela and Lena after the latter had found her missing ring in the bathtub. Coming to think of it, the place of discovery was hardly surprising. They did have quite a lot of fun in there today. Not only the massage, but also what came afterward.

Mercy did blush a little when Tracer screamed that she found her precious ring in the tub. Apparently the implications weren't lost on the Swiss doctor. Still, Tracer was beyond happy that she got the precious memento back.

Angela had suggested that one of them might want to go ahead so things would be less suspicious. Since Amélie had her stuff already packed and was ready to go, she gave Lena a quick peck on the lips before she left her and Angela. The Swiss doctor had an almost motherly smile on her lips when she saw the sweet and innocent interaction between her best friend and the woman who was her enemy turned savior turned friend.

It was a good thing that Mercy, after overcoming her initial shock, seemed to absolutely support Lena and Amélie's relationship. It might have done them some good that Widow was the one who busted Angela out from Talon's claws. At least it did wonders to Angela's trust of the former master assassin. Widow was glad this was the case. She suspected Tracer would have been devastated if her best friend disagreed with her relationship with Widowmaker. The French hitman doubted Lena would have left her because of it, but it would have made things considerably more difficult.

Now, all Amélie had to deal with was the hostility of the other Overwatch agents. A hostility she didn't doubt she would get to feel no matter where she would go. She didn't care. Lena was the only one who had an opinion that mattered.

And that made Amélie smile internally. It only showed as a grin on the outside when she entered the lobby of the old hotel in Russia. McCree and Genji were already there, the former reclined in one of the comfy chairs, his cowboy boots on the table in front of him and his hat covering his face. The latter was standing in front of the large glass window, gazing outside into the cold, clear winter morning. Out of the corner of her eye, Amélie noticed Zarya standing in front of the reception, talking to her grandmother. The old lady gave her a nod and a warm smile. Widow returned the nod.

" _Bonjour_ " Widowmaker said for everyone to hear as she put her bag next to all those which were already gathered in a corner of the lobby. A few black kitbags containing the equipment Tracer and her comrades brought along for the rescue mission…none of which were needed.

McCree lifted his hat with a finger and eyed Widowmaker walking over to a specific chair she seemed to have taken a liking to. It was in the corner of the lobby, providing a good view over the entire perimeter.

"So, you really do tag along now?" He asked lazily. It seemed artificial, as there was a certain tension in his voice.

Widowmaker fixed him a glare with her cold, golden eyes. She had that particular look down perfectly. It was really intimidating how she could stare daggers at someone. McCree didn't look away though.

" _Oui_ " she said coolly.

"Listen, I'll just say this now so we are clear, lassie." McCree started, putting his legs down from the table and leaning forward. "I don't trust you. Never will. No idea what you did to get Angie to like ya, but I sure as hell won't follow on that. I have my eyes on you, _Widowmaker._ I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, for Angie's sake. But make no mistake. One wrong move, and I will end you. Ya got that?"

Amélie smirked.

"And you think you got it in you, cowboy?" she asked, not in the slightest inclined to bend her will to anyone other than Tracer.

McCree just leaned back again.

"Guess we'll have to find out one day. And that day will come. You'll betray us again like you did before." he said, and even though he looked relaxed, he didn't sound like it at all. Not one bit. There was a hurt shimmer in Jesse's eyes as he continued. "He loved you." McCree said, not needing to specify who he was talking about. "And you murdered him. Talon's fault or not, I don't care. Gerard was my friend and I'll never forgive you for your betrayal."

_Gerard._

Amélie's eyes widened for a moment. Her body felt cold and there was an uncomfortable pull on her soul, her hands and fingers growing numb like the blood inside just froze.

_An evil smirk. Glistening green eyes filled with fury and hatred. A rough hand around her throat. She cried for mercy. He was all over her. Disgusting. Humiliating._

"You don't know _anything_ about him!" Amélie hissed. She had said it before she knew why, but suddenly she felt herself growing angry. Emotions weren't usually her thing, and seething rage was one of the emotions she had lost a long time ago. Rage made you sloppy. And a sloppy person makes for a lousy sniper. Talon beat that notion out of her rather quickly.

Then why was she feeling like her insides were about to explode now? She wanted to rip out McCree's throat for apparently no reason. Amélie didn't understand what infuriated her so much. Was it the insinuation that Gerard cared about her? But why did this make her so angry? It had to do with the horrible feeling she got upon hearing her former husband's name. But she couldn't remember why.

All she got was unexplainable fear, feeling alone and stuck somewhere she couldn't escape from.

"Oh, I know more than enough for my part." McCree said dangerously low.

"Enough, Jesse!" Tracer said loudly, storming into the lobby followed by Mercy who walked over to Amélie. "Leave her alone" Lena ordered the cowboy in a bossy tone, but did nothing to acknowledge Widowmaker in any way. Not wasting a second so he couldn't reply, she went on. "Time to get going, everyone. We're all packed up and the shuttle is waiting for us a bit outside the city. It's time to go home. Let me quickly thank you all for coming with me. Even though we didn't get around to doing what we came here for, I still wanted to thank you all for your help. And I mean everyone here in this room. Including Widowmaker, who was doing our job." she said, giving her lover a professional nod of gratitude without any further acknowledgement.

"Alright. You heard the lady." McCree announced, getting up from his chair "Get your shit and head out." he apparently dropped the matter of Tracer telling him to leave Amélie alone altogether. He said what he wanted to say anyway. No point dwelling on it further. It wasn't like he didn't want to believe that Widowmaker could have changed sides. He just _didn't_ believe it. She had been deadly loyal to her husband in the past. She was full of devotion for him. And then she murdered him in his sleep. It didn't matter what Talon did to her, she could not be trusted anymore.

McCree had no idea what really happened.

He would have not wasted another thought about his 'friend' if he knew. He would have talked differently.

But McCree had no way of knowing.

And since Amélie couldn't remember, she had no way of telling.

Jesse tossed Zarya two kitbags before she grabbed one for himself and left with the Russian weightlifter. Genji picked up a bag as well, and Widowmaker took her own. Then, no bags were left anymore.

Shrugging at how she apparently didn't need to carry anything, Mercy zipped up the coat from Talon, the only article of clothing she kept simply because it was rather comfortable and really warm, before she winked at Tracer and Amélie, leaving the hotel.

"I see you are whole again" Widow stated with a slight bemused tone, looking straight ahead.

Tracer touched her ear with a slight blush.

"Yes. I'm glad I found it."

Widowmaker smiled.

" _Merci_ " she said, obviously talking about something else. Her eyes where wandering out the door.

"Huh? What for?"

"Making him stop talking." Widowmaker said as if it would explain everything. Tracer just nodded. She was aware that this apparently was a rather delicate matter. One day she would have to talk about it with Amélie, but today was not this day.

Lena grabbed her girlfriend’s hand and held it tightly in her own for a moment, completely forgetting that Zarya's grandmother might see, before she let go again. It didn't matter to her. She wanted to touch her girlfriend before they headed back to Headquarters. Who knew what would happen then? Who knew how often they could see each other? Maybe Morrison wouldn't like the idea of a Talon assassin running around their base freely.

" _Vy dvoye takaya milaya para. Vsego nailuchshego_." Zarya's grandmother said, walking past them with a knowing smile on her lips.

Widowmaker hesitated for a moment, apparently slightly taken aback by whatever the old woman told her, before she uttered a shaky " _Spasibo_ " with a slightly shy nod. She let go of Tracer's hand, albeit reluctantly, and picked up her own bag, before she went for the front door.

"You speak Russian, luv?" Tracer gaped.

"I speak lots of languages, _chérie_ " Widow replied with a proud smile.

"Oh, wow! I have such a smart girlfriend!" she cheered. Amélie just kept smiling, not wanting to tell Tracer that it had nothing to do with her being smart or anything. The knowledge was just crammed into her head by Talon, whether she liked it or not. "What did she say?"

"Mhh, wouldn't you want to know?" Widow teased as they left the hotel, following the others. They were already a little bit ahead, but that was fine with Tracer. It meant she could have a little bit of privacy with her lover.

"Of course I want to know. Don't be mean to me! Tell me!" she pouted playfully.

"She called us a cute couple and wished us all the best."

"Awww"

"She is a wise woman, indeed" Widowmaker hummed, deep in thought.

"Hang on, Blueberry. She _knows?_ "

"She saw us in the lobby"

"Shite."

"It's not like we are going to see her again, _oui_?"

-/-

Ten minutes later the small group who set out to Diskon to rescue their one and only Dr. Ziegler arrived with the woman they wanted to bring back plus the unexpected extra at their taxi. The Orca shuttle sent to pick them up was sitting in a frozen and snow-covered field next to an abandoned street which possibly had seen its best days decades ago. The various potholes and cracks were either filled with frozen water or sprouted dead plants.

The Orca, the name originating from both its large, whale-like silhouette as well as the black and white coloring, had its optical cloak down and the side loading bay open. An Overwatch pilot was sitting on the ramp, enjoying a cigarette and a cup of coffee. He waved at the agents approaching the shuttle.

"Someone order a taxi?" he asked with a smirk on his lips, snipping his cigarette into the snow.

"Depends. How much to Gibraltar?" McCree asked. "Ya know, we ain't exactly rich and all that."

"Ah, no worries, mate. No worries. First tour of the day is on the house. Come on board, you all." The pilot laughed and waved them into the belly of the Orca. McCree and Genji walked past him, followed by Mercy and Zarya.

"It's good having you back, Dr. Ziegler." He said with a very respectful nod. One could see the admiration in his eyes as Mercy was about to walk past him. She stopped for a moment to look at the pilot while Zarya proceeded to walk inside.

"You seem familiar. Do I know you?" Angela said to him, and the man's eyes lit up even more. He would have never thought that she'd remember.

"You do, Ma'am. I'm Captain Kava. The last time you saw me my face was covered with blood and dirt. I was shot down during the battle of Stuttgart. You saved me that day, Dr. Ziegler. I can't fly fighters anymore, but that's fine. I still breath. I wanted to fly the shuttle today and come pick you up as a way of saying 'thank you'."

Mercy actually beamed at him for a moment, her expression carefree and genuinely happy. She _did_ remember him. Angela remembered each and every patient she ever had. "I am glad you are doing fine, Captain Kava" she said. Turning her head over her shoulder to check if she was the only one still outside, Mercy saw Amélie and Tracer standing in the field a few meters away from the shuttle, both of them appearing to be frozen in place as if they were trying to listen to something.

Dr. Ziegler frowned. What was up with them? Was this an intimate couple-bonding moment she shouldn't interrupt? Somehow it didn't look the part. Not at all. There was no ever-so-faint smile on Widowmaker's lips, and Tracer's eyes weren't glued to her lover anymore.

Captain Kava cleared his throat.

"Not to be nosy, Dr. Ziegler, but the lady standing next to Agent Oxton. Isn't she...?"

"She is" Angela sighed, the expression of the pilot growing confused "It's complicated. She was the one who freed me from Talon and got me to safety. I promised her a secure place to stay. So, she comes along with us."

"I see." Kava nodded, far be it for him to interfere with the plans and ideas of the higher ups. Hell, he was a glorified taxi driver, not the head of medical research, like Doctor Ziegler, nor the protégée of the former Blackwatch boss, like McCree, and surely, no matter how much he ever wished to be, not the great Lena Oxton, the pride of the Royal Air Force, ace-pilot and youngest test-pilot in the history of aviation turned highly successful special operations agent.

No. Their minds worked differently from ordinary people.

"Hey! What about you two-"

"Shut up!" Tracer hissed at the pilot, raising a hand to stop him. Her voice was sharp and on edge. She turned her ears into the wind, closing her eyes. "We need to go! Now!" she yelled, and pushed Widowmaker in the direction of the shuttle.

Angela didn't quite understand, but not a moment after Lena had said this, the air was filled with a loud roar and two pitch black, sleek looking fighter-jets darted past them over their heads. One of them had a huge deep red symbol painted onto its lower side.

_Talon._

A moment later, a larger shuttle, rather similar to the Orca, followed the two jets.

Kava tossed his plastic coffee mug into the field and turned on his heel, racing to the pilot seat in the shuttle and preparing it for launch.

"Buckle up, boys!" Lena yelled, pointing at Zarya, McCree, and Genji who were getting comfortable on the small couch corner in the shuttle. "We have company." she added, happy to see that Mercy and Amélie were already sitting in two of the eight safety-chairs the shuttle provided, lowering the retainers.

"Anything on their position?" Lena asked, racing to the spacious cockpit. It was meant for a whole crew of people, not just one pilot. Overwatch was seriously lacking personnel these days.

"Three contacts. Two are proceeding toward Diskon, one is making a turn and coming back." the Pilot replied as the Orca's engine howled and rapidly began lifting the Shuttle into the air. They all were pressed into their seats with quite some force. "Hard contact in 20 seconds."

"Cloak?" Tracer asked, gripping the pilot's chair tightly so she wouldn't lose balance.

"Not working during full throttle." Kava replied tersely. That was when Lena pulled on his shoulder. Roughly.

"Scoot over" she ordered, taking his seat and immediately pulling the throttle-lever back to minimum. Her quick and skilled fingers danced over the console in front of her, and the fuselage of the aircraft began to shimmer for a moment before it was completely gone, the cloak masking the large shuttle from prying eyes and most conventional detection technologies like radar.

"What are you-" _doing?_ The pilot asked in the exact same moment one of the jets raced past them, sending a shockwave through the shuttle.

"There he is" Lena smirked and accelerated the shuttle, apparently pursuing the fighter. She immediately felt at home. Flying used to be her life, and now, the joystick firmly in her hands again, Lena realized how much she missed it. Her body and mind immediately returned to the old habits of a pilot. Within moments, Lena had various situations and possible maneuvers for many scenarios laid out in her mind. It took her one glance at the Talon jet to know what model it was and which capabilities it probably had.

"What the hell are you doing?" Captain Kava stared at Tracer. "We need to get out of here!"

"We do that and we're dead. That guy is flying a latest generation MiG. Those beauties come with nasty surprises for us" Lena smiled a wicked grin as she pulled the shuttle through a tight loop, following the fighter at a dangerously short distance slightly underneath it and slowly creeping closer. "I'd say they didn't spot us yet. Otherwise, they would have all come after us. They _thought_ something was here, so they sent one to check it out." Tracer explained. "Soon they are going to-"

A loud beeping warning sound was emitted from the shuttle's consoles, various displays shifting from their normal readings to an alarming red. Tracer's fingers danced over the consoles, hammering commands into them.

She was right with her assumptions.

"Yep. There it is. He's brandishing around with his phase-detectors. Of course he is." she smirked. "The only safe place for us now is right on his tail. It is the only place in a radius of a hundred miles where the system will fail to detect us. If we stay closely underneath his hot exhaust gases, the system will mistake us for literally hot air." she explained. "Though this won't work forever..."

"Of course it won't!" Kava squealed. He was experienced, and had seen his fair share of stupid maneuvers, considering himself to be a decent pilot, but what Lena Oxton was trying to pull off here was nothing short of suicide. It was madness! They were flying a freaking shuttle, meant for transporting stuff, hot on the tail of a brand-new fighter jet; one of the best in the world. That thing had the advantage on them absolutely everywhere except for the number of passenger seats…which didn't help much in a dogfight. Of all the stunts which would most likely get you killed, this took the cake.

"What's happening?" Angela asked, carefully daring to walk into the cockpit. The first thing she saw was the metallic ass of a fighter-jet right in front of their window, so close it seemed to touch the transparent glass. Then, she noticed Tracer concentrating hard while obviously piloting their shuttle and the original pilot simply staring, his face as pale as the snow they just escaped in Diskon.

"This woman is insane!" the original pilot exclaimed "You can't stay this precisely on his tail. One slight slip and we are spotted!"

"I can." Lena simply stated "We did it in the Air Force all the time during training. Trick is to watch his elevators and rudder very carefully." she explained "Luv, you go and sit down again, this doesn't necessarily _have_ to work. He turns too tightly, we are spotted. I don't want you to fly around in the inside of the shuttle while I pull a Maverick."

"A what?" Angela asked.

"Top Gun?"

"What is a top gun?"

"Seriously?" Tracer wanted to roll her eyes, but she couldn't take them off the jet in front and slightly above them. "We need to have a movie night one day. Now sit down again, please." Lena pleaded, her voice plain and focused despite the jesting context of her statement. Her mind was somewhere else. She was talking on autopilot. The real Lena Oxton was doing what she did best in her life: Flying.

Mercy quickly returned to her place while Tracer was already planning five steps ahead. What would she do in this situation if she was flying the MiG? A few things came to mind, none of which were particularly favorable for the Orca-shuttle.

The beeping on the console stopped, and Kava sighed relieved. "They gave up." he said while the fighter in front of them turned a tight corner to the right, a direction leading him back to Diskon. Tracer pulled on the joystick in her hands and forced the shuttle to follow the tight corner the fighter dictated. It was barely within the turn radius.

"Agent Oxton?" the pilot asked.

"It's a trick" she replied, her voice tense "Basic 101. Just you wait. He'll switch that thing back on in a minute."

The second passed painfully slow, and Lena was visibly tensed up while the fighter jet in front of them was flying a perfectly straight line at a suspiciously low speed. Something was terribly wrong. Tracer felt it itching in her bones. Every fiber of her fighter-pilot self told her this was not what it seemed like. She had been flying for the better part of her adult life and she was the best of the best the Air Force had to offer. Lena knew when to trust her instincts. Now was that time.

"What do we have in terms of offensive equipment?" Lena asked the pilot.

"Err... nothing" he admitted.

"Bollocks..." Lena sighed. The odds weren't in their favor yet again. Just as usual, it seemed. If the pilot of the MiG would do what Lena thought he was about to do soon, they needed to get rid of him…and fast. But without any offensive equipment, they were at a severe disadvantage. The only thing they _did_ have on their side was their massive size, which theoretically gave them an advantage for a ramming maneuver. But Lena didn't want to risk that just yet. The other thing they had on their side was an ace-pilot and the world's greatest sniper. Lena might have an idea. "Amélie?!" she yelled into the passenger compartment.

" _Oui_?"

"Come up here. I need you." Tracer exclaimed. A few moments later she heard the metallic clicking of Widowmaker's heels on metal floor.

"What do you want?" Widow asked, her voice full of professional coolness.

"See that jet there?" Tracer pointed out of the window. She just hoped the MiG-pilot would be a patient predator. If he pulled the stunt Tracer suspected he would _now,_ they were screwed.

"Hard to overlook, _non_?"  Widow replied.

"If I do a barrel roll over him, can you land a shot on the pilot out of the side door?"

"What!?" the pilot gasped.

"We don't have time for this. Can you do it?" Tracer urged.

"Seems doable" Widowmaker shrugged. She had landed more difficult shots like this before, like when she shot Mondatta mid-flight, while falling off a building. The shot was lined up perfectly and would have gotten both the Omnic monk as well as Tracer if the latter wouldn't have reversed time.

"Grab your rifle and get in position! Hurry!" Tracer said, and Widowmaker turned on her heels to hustle back into the main area of the shuttle, preparing her rifle. "On my mark."

"What on earth are you doing?!" the pilot screamed. "This is _madness_ "

"He is playing hide and seek. This is a psycho game, luv" Tracer explained "If I were him in this situation, I'd turn my sensors off for a minute or two and just fly a straight line, making my prey think I gave up, tricking them into changing course. Then, I switch the scanner back on and pull the tightest corner my machine can do. My prey would light up like a Christmas tree should they still be hiding on my tale, because they can't react fast enough to follow."

Lena brought the Orca sideways to the fighter, getting in position for the barrel roll she was planning. "You hit the radio-jammer as soon as he switches on his sensors again. I don't want him to report his finding"

"Of course" the pilot nodded.

"Ready, Amélie?"

" _Oui._ " Her reply came immediately. Widowmaker was standing in front of the still closed door, her grappling hook fixed to the other side of the Orca's interior to prevent her from being sucked out of the shuttle once the door opens. Her rifle was already in sniper mode.

Lena had a very close eye on the fighter jet next to them. She could see the pilot already. It was like she was seeing right into his head in this moment.

Her hand slid to the door-opener.

"Any second now. C'mon. Do it, luv. I know you want it." she mumbled to herself as if she could somehow do telepathy. Her eyes were narrow, and her slender body went tense. It had been a while since she felt her own heart beat against her ears like this.

"C'mon..." she whispered under her breath.

A second passed.

The enemy pilot began to shift in his cockpit.

Another second.

The console screamed the alarm sound yet again.

"Now!" Tracer yelled as she slammed the door-opener down. This, of course, immediately dropped the cloak of the shuttle, revealing it to the Talon-pilot.

Just as Lena predicted, he had planned to do a tight turn. But suddenly there was a huge Orca right next to him in exactly the place he wanted to turn _to_.

Lena pulled the shuttle in the closest possible roll over the fighter at a moment's notice. It happened so incredibly fast, a bystander might have thought the events occurred simultaneously.

The deafening sound of the wind whipping past the now open door filled the shuttle which rolled over the enemy. The noise was unbearable, and the storm outside was pulling painfully on everybody's hair, the inside of the shuttle feeling like a hurricane all of a sudden.

Widowmaker saw the door opening. Her scope had already found the approximate location of the enemy pilot in his cockpit.

Her breath slowed down. Her perception of time turned reduced to a fraction of reality. She felt the shuttle turn over the Talon MiG.

The red crosshair of her rifle immediately found it's place right on the Talon-pilot's head.

She waited until the shuttle had reached the highest point, her body hanging freely off the wall on the other side.

Amélie pulled the trigger. The sound of her rifle being fired ripped through the shuttle only muffled by the immense noise of the storm and the roar of jet-engines.

Tracer rolled the Orca around the shuttle and immediately threw her head around to check the Talon jet.

It was still following its original path, with the only difference being that the insides of the MiG's cockpit were now covered in red liquid. Tracer closed the shuttle door again and enabled the cloak.

"Target eliminated" Widowmaker announced.

"Nice shooting, luv!" Lena yelled, turning the Orca around and programming a course to the Watchpoint at Gibraltar.

" _Merci!_ " was the loud reply.

Kava had lost all color in his face. "That was the most insane stunt I ever saw."

-/-

The following flight from Diskon back home was an uneventful one. The interruption in the beginning aside, it was a smooth ride. A long one, yes, but also a quiet one. It was much appreciated by everybody on board. No one felt like more stress than they already had was really necessary.

Tracer had given the Orca back into the hands of the original pilot a while ago and had gone to join the others in whatever they were doing. Genji, Zarya, and McCree were playing a friendly game of cards against each other. Widowmaker feigned disinterest, but Lena saw right through her. Amélie didn't feel confident enough to engage in social activity. It was something she wasn't used to yet. Something that might have even scared her a little bit. Tracer gave her gorgeous lover the space she seemed to need.

Mercy was sitting on the same table, but had her nose buried in medical dossiers. Hers and the ones from Amélie. She said she wanted to work through them while she had time. Lena gave up telling her best friend that she was working too much. It never changed anything. Maybe Angela just needed to occupy her mind with something. But were her own medical files from Talon the right thing to busy herself with? Questionable, but Angela's decision at the end of the day.

That was maybe two or three hours ago.

Now Lena just returned from taking care of some necessary bodily functions. She walked down the few steps of the shuttle into the main room. Widowmaker was leaning back on the couch, her breathtakingly long legs resting on the couch, her body leaning against the backrest, and her head on top of it. Her otherwise piercing golden eyes were closed. She was clearly fast asleep.

A smile tugged on Lena's lips as she saw the beautiful assassin sitting there, her face relaxed and her posture so innocent like never before. It was a strange picture, given the situation, and Lena was actually rather surprised that Amélie allowed herself to fall asleep in this environment. But apparently her girlfriend was more fatigued than Lena had anticipated. She didn't know that Amélie didn't go back to sleeping after Tracer had woken up from her nightmare and got that wonderful massage from her French lover.

Right now, Amélie could have been Sleeping Beauty. Lena had to resist the urge to snap a picture of her girlfriend on her phone. It would have been a stupid idea, but hardly the first stupid idea she would have had. Before Tracer knew it, she had already reached for her phone and took a picture of Amélie sleeping on the couch in the Orca anyway.

Taking in the sight for a moment longer, Lena noticed that Amélie moved her arms slightly around her own body in a careful hug. A slight shiver ran through the blue skinned woman. Tracer quickly moved to grab a standard military blanket. It was navy blue and made of wool, with the Overwatch emblem on it. By no means was the thing soft or overly comfortable, but it could certainly serve as a blanket. Carefully draping it over Amélie's sleeping form, Tracer made sure that she didn't wake the assassin up.

"Whatever you are thinking, Lena, don't do it." McCree's voice said from behind Tracer. She spun around and came face to face with Jesse. He had taken his cowboy hat off and, indeed, did look kind of concerned. "She is our enemy no matter what she pretends" he said in all seriousness.

"Oh, rubbish!" Lena rolled her eyes, but McCree shook his head and placed both his hands on the smaller girl's shoulders, his gaze fixing Lena.

"Lena, listen. We’ve known each other for a long time. We’ve fought together, and we’ve bled together. You’ve always had my back and I’ve had yours. So, trust me on this one. I know she's your type of girl, and I know you want to get to know her. Don't. Lena, trust me on this one. She will only hurt you like she did with her husband. She killed the man who loved her. He was my friend, you know? Gerard didn't deserve it, and neither do you. You'll end up like him if you get involved with that... woman. We don't know why she is really here. It smells fishy. I don't like it." McCree's voice was calm, but imploring. He lacked his usual laidback way of talking, and his accent was almost gone. Hadn't Lena already known Widowmaker before, and had she not seen what Lena did see, she would have listened to his advice. He was only careful. Maybe a bit over the top, but at the end of the day, McCree was only looking out for those he called his brothers and sisters in arms.

"Jesse, I know you mean well. I know you are concerned that this is one of Talon's plots." Tracer said, moving his hands off her shoulders "But think about it for a moment, ok? What kind of plot would that be? Widowmaker blew up one of their freighters and the tanker as well. She also came to Diskon with a woman Talon captured before. They ran into us in Diskon by sheer luck. Widow didn't know we were there, did she? She also didn't know we wouldn't shoot her on sight. She also doesn’t know that Morrison won't lock her up forever once we are back at the Watchpoint. Face it, luv, it would be a horrible plan for placing an assassin. And Angela will be checked thoroughly before she gets to go back to work. This is either the worst plan ever made, or it’s just two women running away from their horrible fate. Now what seems more reasonable?"

"Still."

"McCree, we are talking about _the_ Widowmaker. She just shot the pilot of a fighter jet, while I did a barrel roll over his machine, clean in the head. On the first try. With a cold rifle. And she saved our sorry asses in that moment. Not only mine. Or Angela's. But yours as well. We had _nothing_ to get out of that situation on our own, and she opened us a window to fly through. And now that same woman is sitting on our couch here wanting to leave Talon." Tracer had to swallow the sour lump in her throat when she spoke these words, because there was literally _no_ motivation for her to support any of this. But it was still a legit reason. Just not hers. "Their most valuable asset, the best sniper the world has ever seen, wants to come to _us?_ We would be a special kind of stupid to turn her down. And let's say she is done with killing, and murdering, and shooting, which, heaven forbid, I wouldn't hold against her for even a second, she wouldn't do all these things for Talon anymore. Their most dangerous weapon is simply... gone."

"I…didn’t see it like that before" McCree stated.

"I bet you haven't. We should give her a chance. Maybe she'll surprise us." Tracer rolled her eyes, giving Jesse a nod.

"One way or another" He mumbled, turning around and proceeding to do whatever he was about to when he caught Tracer draping the blanket over Amélie. Lena waited until McCree was gone before she checked with one final glance if her girlfriend was indeed alright. She was still sleeping soundly.

 _"I love you so much"_ she whispered for only Amélie to hear.

Turning around to go and check on the pilot, Lena  saw Mercy looking at her with a warm, yet sad smile on her lips before she turned back around. Tracer decided to talk to her friend instead.

The doctor was standing at the Orca's transparent side ramp and turned back to watching out into the puffy clouds racing past them when she noticed Tracer walking over to her.

"I haven't seen you smile like this in a while" Angela said silently, making sure their conversation wouldn't be overheard by anyone else.

"To be honest, I never was this happy before in my life." Lena replied honestly. "I just wish people would give her a chance. Not that I expected it. But it's already starting to unnerve me hearing that she is dangerous and will kill us all at the first chance she gets" Lena snorted "Please."

"Well, I guess she really _is_ dangerous. At least to anyone but you, _Süße._ "

"Funny, luv. Funny." Tracer sighed.

"Don't worry about Jesse. Once burnt, twice shy, you know? He never got over Gabriel's betrayal."

"Yeah, I know." Lena said "I just hope Morrison is easier to convince that those sick bastards didn't mess with that smart head of yours and, well..." Tracer's voice trailed off, but her best friend understood her nevertheless.

"He'll allow her around," Mercy nodded.

"What makes you so sure about that?"

"Well, either that or he can search for a new head of medical research." Mercy smiled, though it wasn't her usual one. It was tired. Her eyes lost a spark that usually never left them.

Lena laughed, and they fell into a deep and long silence, both of them looking out into the sky, marveling the beauty of the world beyond the clouds, the warm colors of orange and yellow. It was mesmerizing.

But Angela wasn't really watching. Her thoughts were somewhere else. Not here. But somewhere.

Tracer had a bad feeling.

"You ok, luv? You seem a little out of it."

Mercy apparently didn't hear her best friend at first. Lena was about to say something again when the doctor snapped out of it.

"Huh? Oh, yes. No. I am alright; don't worry." she said.

"Riiiight" Lena repeated, eyeing her best friend and immediately figuring her out. She should have noticed sooner, but for some reason, Lena didn't. "I don't buy it for a second. You know that you can always talk to me, right? I know you, Angela. You don't have to pretend to be strong. We all know you are."

An invisible string was tightening around Angela's throat as she turned to look at Lena. Of course she wouldn't be able to hide it for long from Tracer. It made sense. They knew each other like no one else did, and Lena was anything but stupid. Naturally, her best friend would notice that Mercy wasn't fine. That the last days were weighting heavily on her, the memories of what happened cutting deeply into her mind. When she was alone, Mercy sometimes felt Montgomery's touch on her bare skin. Or she smelled his revolting stench. She wanted to tear her own skin off when this happened.

Angela had no idea how she managed to live through this hell. Actually, that wasn't true. She knew exactly how she did it. She did it because she owed it to Fareeha who died for her sake. It was what kept her going. What encouraged her to fight whatever Talon did to her and never give in. Maybe then Pharah's sacrifice would mean something. The idea that her death would have been in vain was unbearable for Mercy. The mere thought of letting Fareeha down steeled her mind and body, giving Angela the necessary strength to withstand Talon's assaults on her.

It still felt so real. Even now that she was standing in an Overwatch shuttle, in safety, far away from where Talon held her, the place it happened in destroyed and sunken to the ground of the freezing ocean, it still felt like she really was still in Talon's hands.

"Come here, luv" Tracer said, and pulled Mercy into a careful hug. She saw her best friend’s eyes water and lose focus. Her expression shifted, and she started to wrap her arms around herself. Lena knew what was going on in Angela's head. She knew.

"It's over, ok? Everything is fine again. We're going home and, soon enough, it will all be but a distant memory of the past."

Mercy buried her face in the crook of Tracer's neck, holding the smaller woman tightly for a long time. She needed the contact and the reassurance that this was, indeed, reality and not another fleeting image projected by her mind. When she had been tied to that chair in Montgomery's torture chamber, she started seeing things after a while. The more he assaulted her body and mind, the more Angela saw people who weren't there. Or, more precisely, one person who wasn't there. Before Widowmaker came and offered her an escape, Mercy saw an image of Fareeha keeping her company toward the end. The Egyptian wasn't saying anything; she was merely standing there, watching in silence, as if she was judging Angela, silently encouraging her to not give up.

Mercy knew that Pharah wasn't really there. Of course she knew. She had seen her being executed by Talon.

Fareeha Amari would never be anywhere again.

And Dr. Ziegler blamed herself for it.

"It's my fault, isn't it?" she said after a while, letting go of Tracer.

"What's your fault?" Lena wanted to know, cocking an eyebrow. She had no idea what her best friend was talking about.

"That they killed Fareeha. I should never have taken her with me. It was only because she insisted on personal protection for me. If she wouldn't have come along, she'd still be alive."

Lena felt like someone punched her in the stomach with a bat. How could she forget to tell Angela about this!? What was wrong with her? She reached out and placed her hands on Mercy's shoulders

"First of all, nothing of what happened is your fault! You hear me? You don't know what would have happened. And secondly, Fareeha isn't dead, ok?"

"I saw them shooting her in the head." Angela pulled back from Tracer and looked at her with a puzzled expression. How was that possible?

"They found a tube of your nano-probes next to her and applied them. It saved her life. She is in a coma, but alive and stable for now. With your help, she'll be alright in a jiffy." Lena smiled.

-/-

* * *

 

**Watchpoint: Gibraltar, 1437 hours, medical wing.**

This was Angela Ziegler's domain. Her kingdom. The area she had been working miracles in for years and years. The sickbay still contained her spirit as if she had never left and was just getting coffee or something. Her black marble desk was tidy as usual, only a few important documents for her trip to Zürich lying on top of it.

It didn't feel right without the blonde doctor running around, caring for everyone and about everything. If Overwatch was actually  a big family, Mercy would definitely be the mother of them all. She watched over the merry lot, like the guardian angel her Valkyrie suit so appropriately resembled.

Yet the Swiss doctor wasn't there. Not yet.

Jack Morrison was standing in front of Dr. Ziegler's desk, dragging a finger over its clean, cold surface and was wondering if the plan he made for her and Widowmaker would suffice. It had to. He needed Mercy, and he also needed the assassin. Even if the latter was only meant for the long run, she was still extremely important. Listening to Reyes' advice, he decided it would be best to treat them both with the necessary caution, just like he would have done otherwise. The fact that he knew that Mercy was perfectly fine was a bonus. It would        help to accelerate the coming events where they had to officially confirm that she, indeed, was fine. Preferably in a way everyone believed. Widowmaker, on the other hand, albeit being deemed trustworthy for now, was still a big question mark. Morrison had to be careful around her. The only thing they knew for sure was that the French assassin would listen to Tracer. And only Tracer. Which meant they had no idea what Widow would do if she felt herself in any kind of danger.

Morrison rubbed over his temples, sighing heavily. If he was honest with himself, he had no idea what he was doing. Like... none whatsoever. He was just stumbling forward at this point, trying to hold on to a meanwhile _really_ old plan, trusting that it would lead them to victory in the end. When Reyes and him started this mission, he really didn't think it would blow out of proportion like _this._ It couldn't be helped now.  

"Sir?" Winston's deep voice asked, the steps of his heavy body making the floor tremble ever so slightly. One could feel the giant gorilla walking.

"What is it, Winston?" Morrison asked as he turned around. The monkey scientist was adjusting his glasses. In the background, two Overwatch agents carried a lifeless body in a life-capsule into the sickbay, all under the very watchful eyes of Reinhardt. The female form was covered with a blanket, only her head stuck out on top of it. Her eyes were closed, and her face seemed peaceful. The transfer of Fareeha Amari was finally completed. The injured Egyptian arrived at the Watchpoint and would be put into one of the bio-beds which would keep her vitals in check until Dr. Ziegler could work on waking her up.

The people carrying Fareeha walked past him and went to work on getting her set up. They were followed by Reinhardt who had an empty, horribly sad expression on his face. His body seemed to move on its own, like the German knight wasn't really in there anymore. No one dared to ask any questions out of respect for an unspoken truth everyone knew but no one ever talked about.

"You have to sign this, please." Winston handed Morrison a clipboard with a form on it. Jack quickly skimmed over the paper - standard medical transfer stuff -  and signed it.

"Something else?" he mutterd.

"Yes. The shuttle which was sent to pick up Dr. Ziegler, Tracer, her team, and the Talon assassin called Widowmaker will arrive shortly. As stated by Tracer's preliminary field report, Widowmaker expressed a desire to defect to our side. You wanted to be informed about this. Sir. In my opinion, it is a bad idea to grant one of the most dangerous assets of Talon access to our base no matter what she pretends to want."

"We discussed this already, Winston. We'll be careful. When will they arrive?"

"I believe in about ten minutes." Winston replied.

"Very well" Morrison nodded and turned away from Angela's desk, walking out of the sickbay. "I want a security squad at the helipad. Just to be sure."

"Certainly, Sir."

"Did you find a suitable doctor to evaluate Dr. Ziegler?"

"I did." Winston said, following an almost running Jack Morrison down the corridors. "Dr. Giuseppe Laguardia. He studied psychology and applied medicine at the University La Sapienza in Rome. Graduated summa cum laude almost twenty years ago. Multiple awards for merits during the Omnic crisis. Currently, he is operating an office in Venice. He developed a new kind of trauma therapy and-" Winston was interrupted by Morrison raising his hand.

"So, he is good?"

"The best we could find for what we need." Winston confirmed.

"When will he be here?" Morrison wanted to know.

"Given the fact that Overwatch is currently an illegal organization, we have to be careful. I sent agent Shimada -  Hanzo, of course, not Genji - to make Sapienza a good offer and convince him to join our endeavor. I also told them to be careful with what they tell the doctor, but it should be enough to spike his interest."

"That wasn't an answer, Winston"

"Apologies, Sir. We are probably looking at a week at most."

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -/-
> 
> A/N:
> 
> So, that's it for today.
> 
> I kind of didn't get as far as I wanted to get, but that's fine. Next chapter I guess we'll see how Widow is welcomed at the Watchpoint and what happens there.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who is giving kudos or writing comments! You guys and girls rock!
> 
> Also, special thanks, as usual, to the my three angels!
> 
> I feel like I have forgotten something important... mhh, can't remember it. Oh well...
> 
> Alright, I hope I'll see you all in the next one :) Due to being crazy busy these days, chapters do take me a bit longer than usual, I apologize for that.
> 
> If you want to support the story, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction
> 
> o7
> 
> E82


	24. smashed to smithers

_Newsflash: Tension between Omnics and humans has reached a new peak. Following the assassination of the Shambali monk, Tekhartha Mondatta, a few months prior in Kings Row, another Omnic rights movement turned violent yesterday evening in London. Police reports 438 casualties, so far, but claim the situation has been brought under control. Details are not revealed as of yet, but well informed sources are speaking of an electromagnetic pulse bomb being used by local authorities._

_The public uproar demanding an immediate abolishment of the Petras-act and re-activation of Overwatch and all connected programs has been yet again met with silence on behalf of the UN high command. The popularity of the "Peace for People - Bring Back Overwatch" movement grows._

_Thiery Savant, currently running for the post of General Secretary, used an impromptu press conference to promise that during his term such outbursts of violence against humans will be met with the full force of the United Nations' military arsenal. He, yet again, pointed out that the re-activation of Overwatch could be one of many useful and effective ways to go._

_In current polls, Savant has overtaken the current general secretary Lilith Royce by two digit percentages. Little seems to stand in his way of his assumption of office early next year._

* * *

-/-

**9 days later:**

To say that this wasn't what Widowmaker expected would be wrong. She knew they wouldn't welcome her with open arms. They would have been total fools if they did. No. This was what she knew would happen and Amélie also knew that, deep down, Tracer knew as well. It was hardly surprising on top of being the only logical choice for Overwatch.

Minutes prior to their shuttle landing at one of the helipads at the Watchpoint in Gibraltar, Lena told Amélie that no matter what happened, she had to stay calm and play along for now. The bubbly Brit promised her lover in a very serious tone that no matter what turn the upcoming events would take, Tracer would take care of it. One way or another, to the best of her abilities, and to their advantage.

Widowmaker had silently agreed to that, moments before the shuttle-ramp opened and they were welcomed by half a dozen of soldiers and the former commander of Overwatch, Jack Morrison.

One could see that he wasn't liking the situation at all. Not one bit. He had informed them that he intended to follow protocol for these matters to the letter even if he was aware of the special situation they were in.

Widowmaker had stayed silent while Morrison explained that she and Mercy would be arrested for the time being. Tracer had protested, claiming that there was no need for solitary confinement, but Morrison's decision had been made. He explained that it was only a temporary solution until the mental stability of both Widowmaker and Mercy could be confirmed. They were waiting for a specialist to arrive at the time; someone who would be able to evaluate said stability. If the specialist would clear them, they were both free to go and Amélie would be allowed to stay at the Watchpoint for the time being.

Widowmaker wasn't surprised. Not really. Though the entire situation on the helipad had been uncomfortable, it wasn't unexpected. Everyone was kind of just standing around, not knowing what to do. At least Morrison didn't outright distrust Widowmaker, and while she was certain that he considered the possibility of this being one of Talon's tricks, he gave her the benefit of the doubt. he gave her a fair chance to prove her claims that she was here because she wanted to get away from Talon. After all, Mercy's and her entire escape story was too improvised and too sloppy to count as a convincing Talon plan.

Tracer had been the one who brought Amélie to her cell, followed by half of the soldiers Morrison had brought with him. They seemed to be rather uncomfortable with their job. Their tension was clearly visible. Maybe they feared that the infamous Widowmaker would try and escape. Amélie was certain that the other half of the security personnel which was accompanying Mercy to her cell was nowhere near that afraid. Then again, they had that huge Russian bodybuilder with them, too.

It could have been a lot worse; Widowmaker knew that. She didn't complain. They were being careful, which was absolutely understandable. Besides, she wanted to be here because of Tracer, not because she had secret plans. If that meant sitting around in a light grey cell with an orange glass wall providing a breathtaking view over the strait of Gibraltar, so be it. The sun was flooding her cell with warm light, and the ocean below her was glistering. There were worse places to be right now. Much worse places. Like, for example, a Talon ship. If Overwatch considered this a _cell_ meant for keeping _prisoners,_ Amélie was definitely curious how a normal quarter looked.

Maybe she would find out soon enough. She smiled fondly at the thought of spending some quality time with Lena in her quarters. Talking the night away among other... things.

Until then, it was just the same old waiting game. Waiting for the specialist to arrive and to do whatever the man needed in order to somehow prove that Widowmaker was indeed here because she wanted to be and not because she was ordered to kill all of Overwatch.

Amélie didn't look forward to meeting the doctor who would evaluate her. Not at all. It gave her nightmares just thinking about it.

She had talked to Tracer about this fear many times since she had arrived at the Watchpoint, and the Brit had always calmed her down again. But Widow couldn't help it. Whenever her thoughts drifted toward her inevitable appointment with some guy who would dismantle her mind and analyze the way it worked, she felt herself sucked back into one of Talon's laboratories. She got cold and tense. She got that lingering sense of imminent danger, and that urge to run away. Yes, she was scared. Not that Amélie remembered a lot of what Talon did to her; they made sure of that. But she did recall fragments. It was enough. Doctors and laboratories scared her. She didn't want to experience anything similar ever again.

But this was Overwatch and not Talon. Tracer told her time after time again that she was safe here. That Overwatch never did, nor would ever, run experiments on humans like Talon did. No one would hurt her. The doctor would most likely merely talk to her. Maybe take a blood sample. He would not strap her to some chair, like Talon did, and he would most definitely not probe her skull open to stick instruments inside her body. Nor would he fill her system with chemicals. Amélie was afraid of these things happening. And she told her lover. Reluctantly, at first. She didn't want to burden Tracer with her horrible past, but Lena was supportive and understanding. She held Amélie close, whispering calming, sweet little nothings to soothe her, and eventually Amélie just spilled a lot of what happened in Talon's laboratories. At least the fragments she remembered.

Tracer held her tightly, pressed against her warm body, her hands stroking gently through Amélie's hair. She told Widow that nothing like that would ever happen again. She told her that Overwatch wasn't like that. That they would just ask some questions. And Amélie, curled up in a ball on Lena's lap, believed her lover. She wanted to. Things would be fine again. Lena was right. They brought her back from the Slipstream accident, too, without hurting her. Besides, it wasn't like Amélie had much of a choice here. Widow wanted to be with Lena so badly, she almost needed the Brit like some kind of addictive drug. She didn't tell Lena that.

A week of waiting and then one examination. One. Amélie had survived worse. Much worse.

What was a week in the grand total of things? Nothing. Amélie was a patient woman. Besides, it wasn't like she was alone all the time.

The metal door leading into the small cell Widowmaker had been occupying for the last nine days opened. Just like it did every day. And just like every other day, it was Lena who stopped by to pay her a visit. She looked sad, just as usual, waving a shy "hello" before closing the door and walking over to Widow's simple bed. The two lovers looked at each other for a long moment, and Amélie tried to smile as best as she could.

No matter how often Widow told Tracer that she was fine, Lena felt guilty for her situation. The bubbly Brit thought it must've been terrible to be kept like this, confided in this small room. She couldn't understand that, for Amélie, it was fine. It really was. The small cell had everything Widowmaker needed. Even more than the room Talon gave her ever offered. For example: a window. Or a real bed. With an actual mattress. Not just a cold, hard metal cot. It had a shower with hot water; not just cold ice. It even had an actual small closet instead of just a simple clothesline. The closet was empty, save for two of her catsuits and, of course, Lena's shirt. They didn't give her any prison gear. Morrison made it clear that she should think of herself more as a guest than a real prisoner, and he told the guards to behave just like that. They tried their best. Despite clearly being scared of her and her reputation as a ruthless killing machine, they were rather polite and at least attempted to be friendly. They even asked if she wanted something to read or let her decide what she wanted from the day's cafeteria menu. Hell, she could leave the cell if she wanted to. All she had to do was ask one of the two guards positioned outside to let her out and she could go for a short walk outside…accompanied by said guards, of course. She didn't do that so far, and not because she was certain the poor blokes might just shit their pants if she did.

Truth to be told, Amélie felt a lot more free in her cell than she ever did in her quarters back at Talon. She also was fairly certain that nothing inside the cell would trigger some hidden programming Talon left in her mind coming with nasty surprises. Nasty surprises she had witnessed before. Like when she almost killed her lover in Numbani. Twice. So far only Lena had been able to snap her out of those artificially induced compulsive acts. Better not push her luck when Lena wasn't around.

"Heya" Tracer said, sitting down next to Amélie on her bed. She reached for her hand and gently took it into hers, leaning closer to her lover. Amélie immediately felt the smile on her lips spread. She could feel Lena next to her, smell her scent, and experience her touch. Her heart slowed down, a comfortable warmth spreading into her body. She imagined this was what peace would feel like. Like only the two of them existed in the entire world.

"Aren't you worried what the guards might think if you come and visit me every day?" Amélie asked, the question suddenly popping into her mind. It hadn't bothered them the last seven days.

Lena suppressed a giggle and shook her head. "They are different ones each time. Also, I visit Angela as well." she told her.

"Now I'm jealous." Amélie jested with a teasing wink. She knew that she would never need to be envious of Mercy. Ironic, considering what happened because of how jealous she used to be of Mercy in the past. She should have talked to Tracer and not jumped to conclusions. But she didn't. Who knows what it was good for.

"Don't be. You get me way longer than she does." Tracer purred into Widowmaker's ear. The warm breath against her skin made the French assassin shiver with delight as she leaned closer to Lena, letting her head rest on Tracer's shoulder.

"Is that right?" Amélie hummed, feeling Lena's fingers run up her hand and around her wrist. She left hot trails on her cold skin. The spark of life it sent into her body was meanwhile expected, welcomed, yes, almost needed.

"Of course." Lena giggled "But believe it or not, I didn't come because of that."

" _Non_? What did you come here for then?" Amélie murmured with a sultry voice and a wicked grin.

"Not _that_ either!" Lena shook her head with a bright laugh. "You're terrible! No. this is actually a professional visit; I'm here on orders."

"Oh, such a pity. I was actually getting excited" Amélie teased with a smirk. "But I'm curious. What's the matter?"

"I just walked Angela back from her appointment with the specialist. Doctor Laguardia…we talked about that before" she said carefully, being totally aware that this was a delicate matter for her girlfriend. Amélie just nodded. "He arrived a few days ago and is now settled in. He read through the files you brought back and checked Angela to see if she was alright."

"And?" Widowmaker wanted to know. If this were going to be bad news, she didn't know what she'd do. She liked Mercy. Not in the same way she liked Lena, obviously, but Amélie felt a certain trust toward the Swiss doctor. Which was strange, considering her occupation.

"Well, the final results will take him a while. But, so far, it seems fine. She was allowed to move back into her quarters already. Maybe in a few days we'll have definite answers."

"That's good news, isn't it?"

"It is. I think." Tracer nodded "Well... you know that's kind of the reason I'm here. Since Mercy is already done, it's kind of your turn, actually. I came to pick you up."

"Oh? Ok. Already?" Amélie paused for a moment and Tracer nodded silently. "Lead the way, _chérie._ "

"One more thing." Lena said, keeping Widowmaker close for a moment "I know how you feel about this whole doctor thing. You don't have to put on the tough guy act. I know it. And I know how difficult it is for you. But..." she hesitated. "I can't stay with you. I already tried to stay with Angela and I was kicked out, so..."

Amélie nodded slowly "How bad can it really be?" she asked with a shrug. The answer was _really_ bad. Widowmaker had experienced what scientists and doctors were willing to do on her own body and mind. She didn't like the idea of facing another doctor she didn't know on her own. Even if it was an Overwatch doctor. The mere idea of being at a doctors mercy again was unsettling. She could manage with Lena at her side, simply because she was the only one who could calm Amélie down, but without her? A cold shiver ran down her back and Amélie knew that nothing good would happen. "Lena, I don't like this" she whispered, "I'm just..." _scared._

Lena leaned closer to her girlfriend and gave her a tender kiss on her lips. "It's alright. We've been over this. Just relax. Winston told me Dr. Laguardia is one of the best in his area. You don't need to worry about anything. I would spare you this whole ordeal if I could, but Morrison insists."

"I know. But people messing with my head..." Amélie started, and Lena squeezed her hand to reassure her that things were fine. She knew what her French lover was so afraid of, and she couldn't really blame her. To Amélie the few memories she still had left or the ones Lena helped her regain were her most precious possession. She was dead afraid to lose them again. "I know" Lena said softly. "Not going to happen today."

* * *

-/-

Dr. Laguardia had taken Mercy's office for the time being. It was the same sunny and warm area Tracer's best friend usually worked in. The six sick beds behind her desk were empty. Fareeha had been moved into the laboratory a few days ago to better tend to her needs. As soon as Mercy would be cleared for service once again, she could assume her old position as the head of Overwatch's medical department and start to work on bringing Pharah back.

Giuseppe Laguardia was careful to not disturb Dr. Ziegler's office too much. The only thing he added to Angela's heavy black marble desk was a small golden picture frame containing his wife and daughter. He knew that he would either go back to Venice as soon as Dr. Ziegler returned - and she would be back, he could tell that much even now - or move to another office. Overwatch, though being illegal, had a certain allure; one he didn't expect. He wouldn't mind staying, should they make the offer.

The first case he worked here was the most interesting he had in his entire career so far, and he had been doing this job for quite some years. Mercy was definitely interesting to work with. She had an impressive grip on her own mind, allowing only memories of small portions of what happened at Talon at a time. She had the mental strength to continue on pure willpower while she handled her experiences and spoke with Dr. Laguardia about them. Very impressive, indeed, and nothing like any other patient Giuseppe had ever worked with. She was extraordinarily rational, logical, and analytical in her thinking, doing most of his work herself while she spoke. Angela talked about her emotions and feelings before she immediately evaluated them herself, putting them into an objective perspective. It was almost like she had two halves: the logical one and the emotional one. The rational one was the one constantly fact-checking what the emotional side wanted to do.

That alone was interesting enough to work with. Dr. Laguardia basically just took notes of Mercy's evaluation of herself, simply because he concurred with Dr. Ziegler's self-diagnosis. They both agreed that she would need time to fully come to terms with what happened at Talon. They also both agreed that it would be best for Angela to go back to work in a familiar environment as soon as possible. It would help her heal better than holidays and being left alone with her thoughts would. Giuseppe suggested to meet once a week with Angela so they could discuss her progress, which Mercy accepted gladly.

And while working with Angela was definitely something new, Dr. Laguardia actually looked even more forward to the next patient. Her files alone were... fascinating in a rather intimidating sense. He had no idea how to evaluate the psyche of someone who was subjected to such intense brainwashing time after time again. Her experiences must have been beyond personality shatteringly horrible. Anyone in their right mind would have come to that conclusion from merely reading the files. Giuseppe couldn't even begin to imagine how her life must have been like. He got _really_ uncomfortable from merely reading the details. The fact that there were people who studied the same subjects he did and took the same oaths he took who were willing to take part in such experiments made him feel shame for his entire line of work. Giuseppe suddenly had a personal interest to prove that not all psychologists were monsters. He knew that he would need to be very careful with Widowmaker; very kind, and very gentle. He wanted her to feel welcome in his office. She needed to talk to him.

He had no idea if this would be enough. How do you bring a woman, who had seen nothing but abuse the past years from people she didn't know, to trust a complete stranger? That was the question Laguardia had been asking himself quite often the last few days. He had been tasked to search for signs of forcefully altered behavioral patterns. The problem was: Giuseppe was very much certain that he would find more than enough of those patterns. She had been stripped of everything that once made her human, subjected to excessive torture and highly experimental, absolutely amoral body alteration therapy, not to mention obvious brainwashing and memory cleaning. The fact that Widowmaker still had _some_ sense of self left after all those years was absolutely mesmerizing.

Agent Oxton had provided some video files and mission reports for him to watch. She told him it would give him a good insight into what really happened to Widowmaker and would maybe help him understand. She warned him that the files were not for highly sensitive people and that he better watch them _before_ eating. Laguardia thought she was exaggerating. How wrong the good doctor had been. He managed to look at exactly twelve seconds of mechanical arms cutting along the spinal cord of a suspended, yet not sedated, woman, before he had to turn it off again. Her screams before she finally passed out would probably haunt his sleeps till the end of his days.

Her mind had been altered. There was no discussing this. She had been altered to serve Talon's purposes. Yet, she had worked against them, freed a valuable target for them, blew up one of their swimming headquarters, and sought refuge at Overwatch. She was doing this on her own…at least, she most likely was. But had she regained enough control over herself again that she could be trusted to be here? That was what he wanted and had to find out. Somehow.

Now, he was looking over some of his notes again, waiting for his next patient.

He had written down some key points he wanted to discuss with Widowmaker... or Amélie... hell, he wasn't even sure how to address her in a way that wouldn't upset her. Would it even upset her? Would she dislike being called Amélie because it was too personal? Or would Widowmaker upset her because it was the name her tormentors gave her? The more he thought about this, the less prepared he felt.

His time of thinking this through came to an abrupt end when someone knocked on the door. He took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for what he knew would be the toughest session he'd ever have. "Come in" he called out, paying close attention to sounding more positive than he felt. The door opened, and the first one to enter the room was a stunning woman with pale, purplish-blue skin and golden eyes. She was wearing a skin tight bodysuit, her arms crossed over her chest. She quickly looked around in the sickbay for a moment before she proceeded further into the room, followed immediately by Tracer, who was also the one closing the door again.

Widowmaker was more breathtaking in person than the doctor would have ever imagined. To think that someone this beautiful could be equally deadly.

"Ah! _Buon giorno_!" Laguardia greeted happily from behind his desk, a warm smile on his lips. Dr. Laguardia was a small man, and he definitely had a taste for good food, at least judging from the size of his belly. He wasn't fat, but he did have a few pounds too many. He was wearing a frameless pair of glasses and a charcoal suit. His head was almost bald, and his grey eyes were old but spread wisdom. "I've been waiting for you." he said, getting up from his, or more accurately, Dr. Ziegler's chair and walked around the desk.

Widowmaker took another moment to look around the room a little more closely. It was half office, half sickbay, with lots of high tech medical equipment standing around in the background. Equipment that drew her attention. Equipment that felt too familiar. The most prominent one was the large glass tube in the middle of the sickbay, right behind a free-standing shelf serving as a room divider. She knew that device too well from Talon. A cold tingle rushed into the back of her head, but Amélie forced it away. This wasn't Talon, she reminded herself. Nothing here was even close to how Talon had been. The room was bright and friendly. There were large windows, letting in the bright sun, and the temperature was comfortable.

But Amélie didn't feel comfortable. Not one bit. As soon as her eyes fell on the equipment in the background, another painful sting rushed through her body and she felt a cold shiver creep under her skin.

_'Lena told you it'd be alright. She is always right. Everything will be fine.'_

Amélie blinked twice, pushing the feeling of distress to the side. She was stronger than that…at least she told herself she was. She wouldn't allow her past to rule who she was. Lena told her that. She also thought that Amélie was stronger.

"Ms. Oxton, we have been over this before. Sessions between a doctor and his patients are confidential." Laguardia said warmly. Widowmaker glanced over her shoulder and quickly found Lena's eyes. They exchanged a brief glance at each other, one that struck Giuseppe as a little odd, yet he couldn't place it.

"Well, I'll leave you two. Guess it's none of my business. Treat her well, Doc." Tracer said, giving the doctor a nod. Turning around she sought out Widowmaker's eyes again for but an instant. Her lover wasn't comfortable here. Lena knew that before and she could tell the moment they walked into the sickbay, but there was nothing she could do against it. This needed to be done, and it was for Amélie's own good.

 _'I just hope she'll be fine'_ Tracer thought as she left the sickbay again, letting a sigh escape her lips. She just stood there, outside the closed door of the sickbay, for a long moment, maybe a minute, Tracer didn't know. She was just kind of frozen in place, as if she knew that she should stick around for a bit longer.

"Everything alright, Ma'am?" one of the two guards, which accompanied her from Widow's cell to the doctor's door, asked. They had been waiting outside.

"Yeah, everything's fine" she laughed it off, even though nothing was fine. Not really. This shouldn't stress her out so much, but for some reason it really did. Lena just wanted to be done with it all.

That was when a loud crashing noise was heard from inside the office.

_'Great.'_

"You wait here" Lena ordered, as she darted back inside the office.

* * *

-/-

Amélie stood there in the sickbay a few steps away from the desk. She felt the temperature drop inside the sun-flooded room, something which should not have been possible.

Dr. Laguardia tried his best to seem friendly, but Widowmaker hardly noticed him. He was but a distant blur while her mind was rapidly pushing into a direction she didn't want it to go. But the more she struggled, the stronger her mind pulled.

"I took the liberty to read your file. It was quite a mess, I have to admit that." he said, walking over to his patient. That got her attention immediately. Her eyes were fixed on him, carefully watching his every move like a cat observing her prey.

She tried to look uncaring, but Laguardia was selected for this job for a reason, and this reason wasn't because he was nearby at the time. He was good at his job. Some may even have considered him one of the best. He knew Amélie only pretended. He could tell just by looking at her, her body language, and her posture. She looked lost. Scared. Alone. Her stance was defensive, and he could tell that every muscle in her body was tense.

Tense and scared was not a mood he wanted his patients to feel around him. He had always prided himself on a warm and friendly relationship with all his patients. It made it easier for them to open up. He wanted them to feel welcome. They all _were_ welcome, after all, for as long as they needed. He took all the time in the world for his patients. It was an important part of his therapy to provide a peaceful, safe environment. A relaxed patient was much more likely to open up. A tense one, however, wasn't. Tenseness was a sign for anxiety or fear. Or, what Laguardia didn't know in the case of trained fighters like Widowmaker, the body preparing for either attacking or defending itself. And no matter how you twist and turned it, you did not want Talon's former master assassin to mentally prepare to attack you.

"Let's start with what I should call you. I don't suppose _Widowmaker_ is a good name, _si?_ " he asked.

Amélie didn't acknowledge him. She didn't react. Laguardia nodded to himself. He didn't suppose this would be easy, though he had hoped she would at least talk to him. "I want you to know that I'm only here to help. I'll do my best to fix this situation and get you out of this mess, _va bene?_ "

Widow only heard tiny bits of what he said. Her head started to hurt and her eyes were burning.

Despite standing in a sun-bathed, warm room, the scene was suddenly turning dark. Everything shifted inside Amélie's mind. The colors lost their brightness and the faint smell of disinfectant in the air got more and more prominent to a point where it was almost stinging inside her nose. She wasn't at the Watchpoint anymore, but inside a dark, metal room. There was a doctor as well. He was also small and his skin a tad darker. He could have been Arabic, or Greek. Definitely Mediterranean. He smirked at Widowmaker in an diabolical way.

" _Your file is the same mess you are. I can't believe you are still walking. We need to fix you._ "

_He laughed and grabbed her at the shoulder, yanking her toward a chair with leather straps on the armrests. Amélie wanted to scream, but she couldn't. Her body was tensing up even more, unwilling to comply to her brain's commands anymore._

" _Sit down and shut up._ "

She blinked.

There was a hand on her shoulder.

"Why don't you take a seat so we can talk for a little bit?" Laguardia asked with a friendly smile.

Widowmaker didn't see his face. His smile wasn't the one he gave her. It was the malicious grin of the Talon doctor.

All Amélie noticed was that her body was working again. Her field of view narrowed down. She felt her slow heart hammering against her ears as the adrenaline in her system began rushing into her veins like barbed wire, working its magic. Thanks to Talon her reflexes and instincst were honed to make her the perfect killing machine, they conditioned her animalistic instincts to take control and make her enjoy the kill, the violence whenever the situation arose. They made sure that in case of doubt, Widowmaker would _always_ go for the kill and never back own.

Now was such a moment.

She was alone. In danger. . They were going to rework her again. Amélie heard a voice screaming at her, yelling to get the fuck out. To run away for as long as she still had the chance. For as long as she still remembered why she wanted to go.

_Don't allow them to take your memories again._

Something inside her snapped.

She had grabbed Dr. Laguardia's hand on her shoulder and spun him around faster than the poor doctor could have blinked. In a fluent motion, Amélie had snatched a random pencil off the desk, stepped behind him, and was about to slam it into the doctor's throat. Twisting the doctor's arm behind his back she held him defenseless in place, pressing him against the desk, threatening to break is arm while letting the pencil dig into his larynx.

" _Dio mio!_ " he managed to exclaim, followed by a painful groan as Widowmaker twisted his hand even further. She was breathing heavily, her heart beating way faster than it should, and she had trouble concentrating. The scene she was seeing kept shifting between the sunny, warm sickbay usually occupied by one Angela Ziegler, and the dark, intimidating laboratories somewhere deep inside one of Talon's bases.

She heard their voices. Their whispers.

How they manipulated her.

Doctors.

Scientists.

It was so confusing. Where was she? Her whole body was screaming at her, warning her of the potential danger. She felt the urge to run away as fast as she could, but at the same time, she knew she needed to stay.

She needed to stay because of Lena Oxton. That was why she was here in the first place. Amélie knew that, she remembered. It was crystal clear in her mind. But that was the only thing she knew for certain.

Widow needed to go. She needed to find Lena, get to her, and run for her life.

Or did she? Yes? Yes? No? She had no idea where she was anymore. Whether this was Talon, Overwatch, or someplace else entirely. She didn't recall how she even ended up in this room, and it didn't help that the damn thing changed from one moment to the next. Couldn't it just stay the same damn room for a minute or two?

Amélie got so far, she wouldn't allow this to happen again. Her head was hers. She wouldn't let some doctor mess with it more.

_Kill him! Run! Grab Lena and make a beeline for it! Away from here! Just leave! We aren't safe here. We have to-_

The door was suddenly opened and slammed shut again as quick steps hurried over to where Widowmaker was about to slice Laguardia's throat in half with a pen. A pen was as good a weapon in her hands as a spoon was. It didn't matter. She could have disposed of him in more than ten ways without even needing anything but her hands. Her mind was made up. This wasn't Overwatch. She was back at Talon. Somehow.

"What's going on?" Tracer's voice called. "What are you doing, luv!?" Tracer gasped as her eyes fell on Widowmaker's back. The Brit could see every little muscle move underneath that spider tattoo of her lover. She held Laguardia in place in front of her, pinned between the desk and the assassin. Amélie wasn't talking to Tracer. She didn't even realize it was her girlfriend speaking. She just heard a voice.

"Let me go! I don't want this anymore! I don't want this! Let me go, or I'll slice your throat, you hear me? Run your experiments on someone else! I'm not your plaything anymore! This ends now!" Widowmaker hissed, her grip on Laguardia tightening.

" _Madre santissima!_ I don't want to do anything to you! Please calm down! I'm just here to help, _per favore!_ " The doctor implored, while Lena approached her girlfriend carefully from behind. She was quick to put two and two together. Tracer had been in a similar situation before. This was like in Numbani. Amélie was seeing things. Things that weren't here. Horrible memories of her past. They were so powerful and so awful they were forcing their way into her consciousness and completely overwhelming it.

"Amélie?" Lena asked softly. "Amélie. It's alright, you hear me? Everything is fine. Let him go. I'm here, luv."

Lena's voice was only a faint ringing in Widowmaker's ears. It felt familiar.

"Leave me alone!" Amélie hissed.

"No!" Lena shook her head "Never. I promised you, remember? C'mon, Blueberry. Come back to me."

For a moment, Widowmaker blinked and she was back in the sunny sickbay in Gibraltar. She looked over her shoulder and there was Lena Oxton right in behind her. The woman she had fallen in love with. She tried to smile.

Maybe her mind wasn't made up.

" _Chérie?_ " Widow whispered in disbelieve. The sun was shining warmly on Lena's hazel hair, making it shimmer, her brown eyes glistening with an emotion Amélie couldn't read.

This wasn't Talon. It was warm and sunny and... there was Tracer.

"Let him go." Lena stepped closer, and gently placed a hand on Widowmaker's; the one that was holding the pen to Laguardia's throat. "He just wants to help you, remember? You are safe here. No one is going to hurt you." Lena said carefully, pulling Amélie's hand away from his neck. "Give me the pen, ok? Everything will be fine again, I promise." Lena said, gesturing Laguardia to duck out of Amélie's embrace now that it was loosened…which he did immediately.

That was the second Widow's scene shifted back into the Talon chamber. The pen as a weapon now gone. Her hostage was gone. She had lost her advantage. She needed to get out of here! Now! Lena's face turned into a big blur, and Amélie freaked out again. With a move faster than light, Widow lashed out at Lena, sending them both stumbling backward. Lena fell to the ground, taking Widowmaker with her. Now rid of a weapon, the Talon assassin quickly wrapped her hands around Tracer's throat and began to choke her.

"You aren't real! None of this is. Where am I? What's going on?" she hissed in despair, the panic and fear she felt dripping from her croaky voice.

Lena gasped for air, but did nothing to interrupt Amélie. She just wrapped her arms around the other woman's waist, looking deeply into her eyes.

"I love you, Amélie." She choked. "I love you. Please come back. You are safe here. I promised you... I..."

The words Lena spoke echoed in Amélie's ears. There was a ringing tone, a loud and sharp one, and she felt a familiar warmth seep into her body. A sharp pain stung into Widowmaker and she winced, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment before she could open them again.

Suddenly she was back in the sickbay at the Watchpoint in Gibraltar.

Tracer was right there in front of her.

She was choking her.

Amélie's eyes flew open and she immediately let go of Tracer, trying to get off her. But Lena had her arms still around her and kept her close. She helped her to her feet again all while not letting go of Amélie.

Her mind was racing. She had almost killed Lena... again. What was she thinking? What was going on in her head?! Why did she...?

Amélie felt her legs grow weak, and she would have fallen to the ground if Tracer hadn't caught her.

"I'm sorry! God, I'm so sorry, _chérie!_ Are you alright? Please tell me you are fine! I don't know what happened! I swear I was trying to-"

Lena carefully pulled her girlfriend closer into her arms and gently brought their lips together for a long and quiet moment. Amélie melted into her lovers strong embrace, allowing herself to be held like this. It felt good. Safe and secure, like everything was fine.

"I'm all good. Don't worry. I understand, ok? I understand. You're safe here. No one will hurt you. I promise, you hear me? No one will hurt you." Lena said, peering deeply into Amélie's eyes, waiting for her breathing to slow down again.

"I'm sorry" Widowmaker whispered.

"Was it the sickbay?" Tracer inquired. She didn't need to elaborate further. Amélie knew that her lover was talking about what triggered her to react like this.

Widow just nodded silently.

"Youscared the shit out of me. And out of the poor doctor."

"I-" Amélie tried to speak but her voice failed her. Her whole body was trembling. She was just so scared. She had never been this scared of something in her life before. It was like someone had opened a valve inside her mind and all the panic and pain stored up behind that valve suddenly burst out into her system. She couldn't do anything else but latch onto Lena and hold her tight while the Brit drew soothing circles onto her back.

Dr. Laguardia, meanwhile, just stared at the scene. He was by no means stupid, and even though he might have suffered a small shock from the sudden attack, he was very much capable of making an astute assessment of the situation.

What Amélie, or Widowmaker, or however she was called, suffered right there was an extreme panic attack. One triggered by an event here in the room or by the room itself. Most likely a combination of both. She obviously reacted negatively to being touched on the shoulder. But Amélie showed visible signs of tenseness before that already. It was his mistake. He misjudged the situation.

At any rate, everything had to be connected to her experiences at Talon.

Giuseppe felt stupid. Stupid and guilty. His patient suffered through that traumatic experience because he was sloppy. He should have known this could happen, and he should have been more careful around her. Hell, he had read her file. The stuff Talon did to her surely had to leave emotional scars. He would have been surprised if this woman didn't suffer from one of the most severe cases of posttraumatic stress disorder he had ever witnessed in the twenty plus years he had been a psychologist.

He should have set up their first meeting in the park or at the beach. Somewhere outside, as far away from anything close to a laboratory as possible. He should have thought about that. But he didn't.

What was even worse, was he had no idea how he would have calmed her down again. His professional opinion told him that he wouldn't have been able to do so. He would have died in that room if not for the Overwatch agent who had brought her. She was hardly just _any_ random agent who was on duty. So much was sure.

The glance they shared before Tracer left made much more sense now. They were an item.

Fascinating.

That was, indeed, very fascinating knowledge. Not that Lena Oxton was obviously romantically involved with Talon's former master assassin; Giuseppe couldn't have cared less about that. No, what sparked his interest was the way Tracer dealt with Widowmaker's bout.

She simply let it happen. She took Amélie's outburst of violence and met her with complete trust. Something told Laguardia that Lena wasn't doing this the first time either. She truly believed that mere words would be enough to snap her partner out of it. She didn't struggle. She didn't fight it. She put her life in the hands of her attacker.

And she was right.

It worked.

Fascinating indeed. A valuable lesson. He would have to talk to Lena about this someday. Maybe he could even learn a thing or two.

"Luv? You ok?" Lena asked silently. Widowmaker still had her face buried in the crook of Tracer's neck, refusing to lift her head out of it.

" _Non_ " was the uttered reply

"You want to go back?" Tracer asked softly.

"Please."

"Would you feel more comfortable if Angela did the examination once she is back and cleared for service?" Lena suggested, thinking that maybe it would help her girlfriend if she actually knew the doctor. They had that idea before, but dismissed it because it would mean waiting for Mercy to be cleared for service again and no one knew when that would happen. Or if it would happen.

" _Oui._ I'd like that." Amélie agreed.

Tracer nodded "Then come. I'll bring you back. Don't worry, things are going to be fine again, ok?" she said. Widow glanced over to the Doctor, who was leaning against a wall, not confident in the ability of his legs to carry him just yet.

"I apologize, doctor. I really didn't mean to do that." Amélie stated carefully. Was this right? Was she supposed to apologize here? A part of her still felt the urge to slice him into pieces.

Dr. Laguardia cleared his throat carefully. "I have to apologize as well. Considering your background, I should have been more considerate. Generally I want my patients to feel welcome, _me scusi._ "

"Doctor?" Lena interrupted. "I assume you are under the Hippocratic oath?"

"Why, of course. I'm a graduated physician."

"Then I trust in your obligation to secrecy and hope none of this will find its way into any official report. And I mean nothing of what you just witnessed." It was seldom for Tracer's voice to sound serious. Usually she was always cheerful and easygoing. But right now, she was dead serious; threatening even.

"Rest assured, nothing like that will happen. I understand. But know that I have to report my results to Commander Morrison. I will not tell him details, but I will tell him I was unable to perform the evaluation he asked me for." Laguardia coughed, his throat felt sore "I will recommend this matter be handled by Dr. Ziegler once she is fit for service again. Can we agree on that?"

"Thank you, doctor." Lena nodded, relieved that the doctor, a complete stranger with no obligation to help them whatsoever, was willing to stay out of this despite what happened. Or maybe because of it? For a moment the thought crossed Lena's mind; was he merely curious? Maybe. It didn't matter. She guided Amélie out of the sickbay. The guard waiting outside did look a bit confused, but said nothing.

On their way back to Amélie's cell, she spoke up: "If he ever tells someone, I'll kill him"

Tracer laughed "I don't think he will tell." she said with a smile before they fell back into silence for a few moments.

"Will you stay for a bit?" Widow suddenly asked.

"You want me to?" Tracer inquired. She wasn't too sure.

Widow merely nodded silently.

"Then I'll stay."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Alright ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for the long wait, but as you all know I am rather busy with university. I know it has been a long time and I really wanted to publish this before Christmas, but it just wasn't ready yet.
> 
> I hope you all had wonderful holidays and I do wish you all the best for the upcoming new year of 2017! May all your hopes and dreams come true, my friends!
> 
> The next chapter is already done as well and should not take this long to be published again.
> 
> Now, I do know that this chapter wasn't as eventful, but I think it is important to show how Widowmaker fits into Overwatch and what happens to her.
> 
> I intentionally made her more fragile this chapter, showing that she indeed did suffer under Talon and that she is not as tough as she makes everyone believe. She opens up to Tracer, because she trusts her. What Talon did to her left scars. Not only on her body, but on her mind. I think we can all agree on that. To be honest I think it would be weird for Widowmaker to just shrug it off like nothing happened at all. She has to deal with memories coming back, with suppressed fears surfacing again and a lot more. I personally think it's more than reasonable that Widowmaker freaks out from time to time. Recovery won't be easy for her.
> 
> That said, I don't want it to drift into too angsty stuff. I want to stress that things are difficult, but I don't want to overdo it. It will be an issue for a bit while the plot progresses, but I promise you our favorite spider will be totally fine once shit starts to hit the fan. And it will hit the fan, I can promise you that.
> 
> Alright, I talked too much. Hope you all enjoyed this chapter, I'd be very happy if you could give me some feedback :)
> 
> A huge thank you to all of you who are supporting this story with kudos and comments. You all are amazing and way too kind.
> 
> To be honest I do feel the pressure, I try extra hard to make this something worth reading and I'm starting to be concerned that I might let you all down. You have no idea how much this all means to me, really. This is my world. I love you all , thank you very much.
> 
> Special thanks of course to the the three angels, you know them by now, without which this work would have been utterly impossible. Thanks guys (and girl).
> 
> It was an honor.
> 
> I'll see you all in the next one!
> 
> o7
> 
> E82
> 
> If you want to support the story, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction
> 
> Thank you everyone for your support! You all know I like that coffee...  
> (I am saying this again, the lines I put around the link are just me trying to be funny. Only tip if you really want to ^^)
> 
> Translations:
> 
> errrr... none you shouldn't know by now, I guess? Tell me if I missed something.


	25. doctors, cells and mansions

**Watchpoint Gibraltar, five days later, 1120 hours.**

Morrison was just about to get up from his desk and head out to grab some lunch. Again. God, what time was it? He checked the clock and noted that he hadn't slept for the better part of 36 hours. He decided to fill his empty stomach, come back, take care of these documents he was working on, and then head to bed. There was definitely too much to do around here.

He had just closed a file when someone knocked on the door of his office. Morrison looked up from the now closed file to see Dr. Laguardia standing outside of his glass office door. Jack waved the doctor to come inside. For a moment, the noise of the command center outside filled Morrison's office as the doctor walked inside. So much for his much needed lunch and subsequent sleep.

"What can I do for you, doctor?" Morrison asked, putting the classified documents away in a drawer of his desk. He tried to not sound annoyed. It wasn't Laguardia's fault that he was working two jobs at once. The official and the unofficial one. For a moment, he considered inviting the doctor to lunch, but he decided against it. He didn't have the time for long lunch breaks anyway.

Giuseppe cleared his throat carefully. He had to admit that he was uncomfortable around Morrison. The commander had that strict, no nonsense aura he imagined most military leaders would have. So, in a way, this was most likely nothing uncommon. Be that as it may, Morrison's stern attitude made the psychologist uncomfortable. The commander was basically unreadable. His face was stoic und his eyes didn't betray a single emotion. He wore the large scars on his face with an unwavering pride, and it was absolutely clear that the Overwatch commander was a tough-as-nails soldier. Despite being well past his sixties already, Laguardia had little doubt that Morrison was still very much capable of some major ass kicking. A part of his aura was simply... scary.

"Doctor?" Jack asked, frowning slightly.

The Italian psychologist shook his head as if he had awoken from a trance before he laughed uncomfortably. "Yes, sorry. My evaluation of Dr. Ziegler is complete. You wanted to be informed about this?" Laguardia said, placing a folder on Morrisons desk.

"That I did" Morrison nodded, opening the folder and skimming through its content "Doctor, I'm sorry, but I don't have the time to read through this thoroughly. Report. What do you have for me?"

"Well" Laguardia stated, nervously adjusting his glasses on his nose. Could that man _please_ stop staring at him like this? Just for a moment? Apparently not. "I'll give you a rundown then."

"Much appreciated, doctor."

"First things first: I do think Dr. Ziegler is fully fit for service. Her mind does not show any signs of forceful alteration. Her perception is coherent as are her recollections of past events. It is my professional opinion that any attempts to alter her mind have failed."

"That is good to hear." Morrison replied, not sounding too surprised. He knew that already. Laguardia's sole reason for being here was to give everyone else legit proof.

"However," Giuseppe added "I think it's my duty to also inform you that Dr. Ziegler has lived through some very traumatic experiences; events which are likely going to influence her permanently. To say that the few days she had been in Talon's hand didn't leave an imprint on her psyche would be a lie. She is coping well, but don't let her self-confidence fool you."

That made Morrison raise an eyebrow. "What are you saying, doctor? Didn't you just say she is fit for service?"

"Oh, she is. She wasn't brainwashed. What I'm saying is that Dr. Ziegler is, despite her trying to hide it, in fact anything but fine. And she knows this herself, which is rather rare with these conditions." Laguardia chuckled to himself for a moment. "She is showing various signs of post-traumatic stress even though she is making an effort to rationalize it and play it down. Now, I think it would be best for her to go back to her normal daily routine as fast as possible. A fixed, normal day is what I think is currently best for her psyche. This is part of the reason I deemed her fit for service already. But be aware that psychological traumata are usually developing only sometime _after_ the traumatic event took place, so the full extent of the damage might still be left undiscovered. To say it clearly: I would like you to be aware that Dr. Ziegler might be in need of professional help in the future. We have agreed on weekly sessions so I can help her adjust. She can work in the safe environment of the Watchpoint, but I have to strongly advise you to not send her out as a field medic anytime soon."

"What timeframe are we talking about?"

"Half a year at the very least."

Morrison nodded after a while. "I see." He said without any expression apparent on his face. "I take it you are willing to continue your current occupation here, then? I would be inconsolable if you wanted to leave us again. You have done a good job so far, doctor." Morrison said with an ever so faint smile, but his praise sounded almost like a threat. Maybe it was his harsh military tone, or maybe he wanted it to sound intimidating, Giuseppe didn't know.

Still, his work here was fascinating in more than one way. He felt like he was finally making a difference again, much like he did after the first Omnic war. It wasn't like he thought his normal cases back in Venice were boring, but he had to admit that they were... well, ordinary. And here at the Watchpoint they were anything but. The first two cases he had worked here were already the most interesting ones he had in his entire career. Not that Widowmaker's session turned out to be particularly positive, but he managed to learn a valuable lesson anyway.

So, being asked to stay was actually a no-brainer.

"It would be an honor to continue my work here. As I said, I do have further obligations to Dr. Ziegler, and I'd be honored to be of further assistance to everyone working in this institution."

"Good" Morrison nodded and paused, flipping thought the file the doctor provided. He didn't find what he was looking for. Not a word. "I seem to recollect that you also evaluated our Talon guest. Mind filling me in on what your opinion concerning her is?"

"Uhm..." Laguardia nervously rubbed over his neck, recalling what happened to him on that day. "Well, to be honest, I didn't get the chance to evaluate her properly. Our session was cut short."

"Oh?" Morrison rose an eyebrow, leaning forward in his chair. Not what he expected.

"Don't misunderstand; I'm not saying she is a threat. She, however, is not exactly a patient I'd consider generally mentally stable either. Now, everything I tell you is under the premise that there is basically no groundwork for brainwashing patients, neither on my behalf nor of my colleagues. No one bothered to look into the matter in depth. That said, it is my believe that patients like Widowmaker are bound to be among the most complicated ones a psychologist, like myself, can work on. Their minds have unnaturally been tampered with to an extent where it's almost a miracle that they can still formulate a correct, logical sentence. The exact workings of brainwashing procedures are not exactly common knowledge and, apart from being illegal, they generally are developed by small underground groups on their own by means of trial and error. Widowmaker has been subjected to excessive torture and brainwashing, among many other things, for long years, as I am sure you have read in her files. It is completely impossible to evaluate her by means of a simple conversation. Patients like her need to be handled with special care. We need to ensure they are in an environment where these patients can and want to open up. There might be special persons they connect to and want to open up to, there might be certain environments they are more likely to overcome the artificial barriers in her mind, et cetera. As I said, there is no general method of therapy. That said, I have to admit that I failed to tend to Widowmaker's needs in an appropriate manner. I didn't think the mere location of the sickbay and me being a stranger could trigger a negative reaction from her."

"What are you talking about, doctor?" Morrison inquired.

The Italian doctor stopped to think of a good comparison. "Have you ever seen a random object and remembered something you thought you had long forgotten, Commander? Something which was in a certain way connected to that object?"

"Sure." he shrugged. Whenever he looked at his old uniform, stored away in a display stand in the back of his office, he felt like he was back in Zürich, on the one day he and Reyes initiated the biggest play for the world to witness.

"The same thing can happen to abuse-victims quite frequently…only they relive memories triggered by certain external indicators at an intensity a thousand times worse than what you normally experience. They cannot distinguish between what is real and what is not for as long as that panic-attack-like state continues."

"Doctor, I didn't study psychology. That's why you're here. What happened with Widowmaker? Is she a threat? Is she going to attack my people? Do I need to lock her up permanently? These are the things I need to know."

"I'm not allowed to go into details. All I can say is I recommend that Widowmaker's psychological evaluation be done by someone who she is familiar with. If I may suggest Dr. Ziegler here, I think that would be ideal. Answering the rest of your questions will take time above anything else. I'm sure Widowmaker's reasons and motivations for being here are not of malicious intent. I'm also sure that she doesn't necessarily _want_ to hurt someone…but this does not mean that she _won't._ "

"What do you know about her reasons?" Morrison asked, perking up an eyebrow. He needed to know simply because he wanted some confirmation that the plan worked. That sending Tracer to deal with Widow bore the fruits they had hoped for. In a way, it didn't matter anymore, but he wanted to know never the less.

"As I said, my Hippocratic Oath prohibits me from disclosing that."

Morrison grunted in annoyance. That wasn't really what he wanted to hear, but it wasn't like there was something he could do about it. He would have preferred if Widowmaker was already cleared of some suspicions and he could let her out of solitary confinement. Apparently she had to wait for a bit longer.

"You think Mercy is able to evaluate her in a better way?"

Laguardia nodded once. "Seeing how the two are already familiar with each other, and considering the role Widowmaker played in Dr. Ziegler's rescue, I would think this is a relatively safe assumption. Medicine is not Math, Commander. There is no definite yes or no. Humans are not machines."

Just when Morrison wanted to reply, the phone on his desk rang. He glanced at the display reading 'Unknown Caller ID'.

"Thank you for your report, Doctor. I will carefully consider your recommendations. That would be all for now."

Laguardia nodded, turned around, and left the office at a fast pace. As soon as the door closed the door behind him, Morrison reached for the phone.

"Yes?" he said, pressing the receiver to his ear.

"Have you talked to Volskaya yet?" The voice on the other end of the line asked. He didn't need to ask for a name; both men knew who they were talking to.

"I'll try to do it this week. Why? Have you talked to the big boss yet?"

"I'll do so soon. We need to get a move on, Morrison. _Tempus fugit._ "

-/-

* * *

**Three days later, Watchpoint Gibraltar, medical wing, ICU, 1624 hours**

_Beep..._

_Beep..._

_Beep..._

It was the same monotonous sound over and over and over again, periodically appearing in a fixed pattern like the click of a metronome. While the sound was annoying on the one hand, it was also a huge relief for Angela Ziegler. That electronically created audio feedback was, along with an ECG, everything which confirmed that, yes indeed, Fareeha Amari was still very much alive. Kept in such a state by machines, true, but alive nevertheless. From the looks of it, she could have been dead just as well. She lay there, completely unmoving.

The Egyptian warrior looked rather peaceful in the bed she had been placed in. Her eyes were closed, and the blanket was tucked away under her arms. Her chest was heaving and falling in slow, barely visible, movements, and all noticeable proof of the woman's injuries were hidden under a carefully applied bandage around her neck.

Mercy looked at her companion who tried to protect her back in Zürich. She still felt guilty for what happened, despite Fareeha being alive.

The Egyptian being in a coma might have seemed like something to worry about, but for Angela, it was really good news. Mercy could work with a coma; she could do something about it. While it was true that she could also do something against death, her resurrection technology only worked for a short time after someone was declared deceased.

A coma was something different. Soon, she would be able to wake Pharah up again. And then, she would accompany her through the entire recovery process. Angela reached for a pen inside the chest pocket of her white coat and wrote down a few readings of the medical equipment on a clipboard. Soon, Pharah's body would be adequately prepared for the wake-up procedure.

It had been two days ago when Mercy was cleared for active duty again and she had taken back her former position as the head of medical research in Overwatch. It was good to finally have something to do again. Something to occupy her mind with. Something she was used to in a well-known environment. She did what she always did when a thought she didn't want to face bugged her: Angela drowned herself in work until she passed out from exhaustion.

Mercy immediately started to work out a complete treatment for Pharah. How she would wake her up from the coma and how she would help her recover afterward.

The first step was regenerating the damaged nerve tissue in Fareeha's neck. Angela had worked on that the past two days and estimated maybe two more days until Pharah's nerve endings would be adequately healed up for her to be woken up.

But taking care of Pharah was not her only responsibility. When Morrison cleared her for service, he also told her, albeit reluctantly, that she would be the one doing Widowmaker's psychological evaluation. He told her that, following Dr. Laguardia's advice, he would place the former Talon assassin in Angela's care for the next three months. She was responsible for her.

Mercy didn't tell him, obviously, but she didn't quite like the idea. Not really, and for obvious reasons, but she knew that if she wanted Amélie to get the life she apparently craved so much, the assassin had to play along for at least a little while. Angela would work something out soon. Besides, three months weren't terribly long.

The sound of heavy footsteps on the floor coming closer to her caught Mercy's attention.

"Ah! I thought I would find you here, Angela" a deep voice said from behind the doctor, and Mercy turned around with a relaxed smile on her lips. That voice could only belong to one.

"Reinhardt!" Mercy greeted happily. The two of them could have spoken in German to each other, since it was the native tongue of them both, but they agreed to not do that while at the Watchpoint. Years ago, someone complained that no one was able to understand what they were talking about, so, out of respect for all their colleagues who couldn't understand them, Mercy and Reinhardt paid attention to speaking English while they were on duty. It kind of stuck even when they were alone.

The tall knight walked up to the sickbed and looked at the woman placed inside of it. "She looks so peaceful" he commented, his deep voice falling silent as his eyes took in the sight of the sleeping woman.

"She does" Angela nodded supportively "I will bring her back soon enough. I'm already working on it; don't worry."

Reinhardt's sharp inhale was audible even over the beeping noise. "I know you will, Angela. You always give your best," Reinhardt flashed her a bright but sad smile.

Mercy reached out for him and placed her hand - which was tiny in comparison - on top of his. She was well aware of what was tormenting him so much. A lot of people knew, but no one ever spoke about it. Angela decided it was time to break that silence now. "Reinhardt, you should tell her when she wakes up. She deserves to know it."

The proud knight averted his gaze in shame "I made a promise to her mother."

"I know that" Mercy sighed. "But Ana isn't here. I know we never found her body and she is technically still missing in action, but, Reinhardt, you know as well as I do that the chances of Ana still being alive..."

"... are basically nonexistent." Reinhardt ended the sentence for her. "That I know. But I still gave a promise. What knight would I be if I couldn't stand by it now?"

"Don't you think she deserves to know who her father is? She has been without a mother for years; what damage could it do? She is your daughter, Reinhardt. _Verdammt,_ don't abandon her like her mother did. She needs you. I'm sure of it."

"She wouldn't be without a mother if not for our new guest." Reinhardt said bitterly. "I will never understand why Morrison allowed that..." he swallowed heavily, clearly forcing himself to not fall into a hissy fit of his finest insults "... woman to be here."

Mercy nodded slowly "I understand how you feel, Rein, I really do." she decided to say after a while "But it wasn't her fault."

"It wasn't her fault?" Reinhardt repeated with mocking laughter "Not her fault? Oh, do tell me, Angela, how was it not her fault when she shot my wife in the face!? Was it not Widowmaker who held the rifle? Was it not Widowmaker who took aim? And was it not Widowmaker who pulled the trigger? The same Widowmaker who is currently sitting in one of our cells, waiting to be let out. Why? In my hometown, I would have challenged her to a duel to death and would have crushed her under my hammer. Crusader style. What happened to justice for the just?"

"Reinhardt, she is _not_ the same woman who did all those things. The woman sitting in solitary confinement has little to nothing to do with the Widowmaker you are thinking about."

"And what exactly makes you so sure about that?" Reinhardt asked back. "You and I both know that there is a little more to the tale of Gerard Lacroix and his perfect wife, don't we? You and I both know that it's highly unlikely that she killed him because she was forced to."

Angela let out a small breath and rubbed over her forehead. True, her friend did have an argument with that. "That is not the point here. And I came to disagree with that assessment. If you just take the time to get to know her a little bit…Sure, she surely isn't a warm person, but I'm also certain she'd surprise you."

"I don't like the idea of that woman being here. I detest the whole situation, and I have to admit that I feel a certain hatred toward her as a person as well. Surely I will not get to know her." Reinhardt grumbled.

"You know that she was the one who saved me from Talon, don't you? She protected me and risked a lot while doing so. Without her, I probably wouldn't be here, and if I wasn't here, who would wake your daughter up again? So, in a way..."

"Stop that!" Reinhardt said sharply. "Of course I know that she was the one who brought you back. It's the only reason I haven't paid her a visit yet."

Mercy sighed "Please trust me on this. She is not who you think she is."

Reinhardt was silent for a long time after that, just looking at his daughter. She survived a shot to the head; stubborn and tough just like he was. She had so many of his traits, and despite him not being there when she grew up, just like Ana wanted it, Fareeha still turned out a lot like him. But, then again, she had so much from her mother as well. Her face and her eyes; the absolute image of her mother. The few times he heard her speak, he thought Ana was back and talking to him.

But Ana wasn't back. And despite never admitting it to himself, deep down, Reinhardt knew that she was dead.

Shot by Widowmaker.

The same Widowmaker who had freed one of his most trusted companions and friends out of the hands of a horrible organization.

He owed his life to that friend many more times than he cared to admit anymore. Without Angela Ziegler's work, he would not stand here anymore. Without her, his daughter's chances of ever waking up from that coma were close to zero.

And now that friend was asking him to give the woman who had killed his wife a second chance.

"I don't have to like it" he grumbled.

"You don't."

"Then I can respect it." he finally decided. "But Angela, if she tries to hurt you, or anyone else in this base, I will not hesitate to kill her with my own bare hands" Reinhardt promised and made a squashing move with his hands to emphasize his words. Mercy couldn't help but giggle a little bit.

"I appreciate the notion, but I'm sure that won't be necessary."

Reinhardt nodded "Well, you know where to find me. Please tell me when Fareeha wakes up. Maybe I will talk to her about some... things."

"Of course. I'm sure she'd be more than happy to hear it."

-/-

* * *

**Widowmaker's temporary cell**

"Chérie?" Amélie asked with a content hum. She had her hands crossed behind her head and was lying on top of her bed wearing absolutely nothing. And neither did Lena, who was currently kissing a trail down from Widow's collarbone in between her breasts, down to her belly button.

"Mhh?" Tracer replied, letting her tongue flick around and inside Widow's navel. The hot sensation on her cold body forced an excited hiss out of Amélie.

"Are you really sure this is a good idea?" Ever since Amélie had been put here, Tracer had been visiting. And it took her exactly two days before Lena couldn't take it any longer and just _had_ to screw her girlfriends brains out. Ever since that day, Amélie had been worried that someone might find out; especially the guards, since they were positioned right in front of the door.

"As long as you can keep quiet? Sure." Tracer smirked up at her lover while she simultaneously glided further south and, soon enough, circled her tongue around a much more sensitive, much more exciting area than Widowmaker's belly button.

Under Lena's hot and skillful touch Amélie's body tensed up and she grabbed at her pillow, her legs spreading a little further without her even noticing.

"Besides, you like the thrill" Lena grinned, continuing her careful admiration of Amélie.

"I-I don't." Widow managed to hiss out, the feeling of Lena's tongue flicking and circling around on _that_ place sending her mind into a frenzy.

"Lies!" Tracer laughed, letting her hand run up and down Widowmaker's inner thigh, lightly scratching the skin with her nails.

"A-ah, Lena..." Amélie moaned, not knowing where up and down was anymore. Her lover definitely knew what she was doing and, not only that, Lena made an art out of touching another woman. There was something in the way Lena always tended to her lover's needs, paying attention to every little detail to even the smallest of touches which made Amélie go crazy with anticipation and joy.

"Just so you know," Lena said, pulling her mouth back from in between Widow's thighs, replacing her tongue with a finger, curling it inside her in slow, rhythmic patterns "I'm totally going to sit on your face after that."

"Yessss" Amélie hissed, roughly shoving Lena's head back where it belonged. She didn't mind having Lena on top and in front of her face. Not one bit. Her lover always tasted wonderfully, and Amélie liked the position. She could wrap her arms around Lena's thighs and press her closer, preventing her from pulling away while she pushed her over the edge.

But only _after_ Tracer had finished working her magic. Amélie felt the wave of pleasure rushing through her legs, stomach, and chest, her nerves overly stimulated, tingling and crackling with raw pleasure before every muscle in her body starting to tense up.

She felt a low growl in her back of her throat; one she had to force back by pressing her hand to her mouth. They cannot make too much noise or else they would be-

The lock on the door clicked, and someone walked inside, apparently not suspecting a thing. Amélie, being naturally alert all the time, noticed immediately.

Tracer didn't.

She sucked and licked one final time at Amélie's most sensitive spot even though Widow started to reluctantly struggle. She gave her lover no other choice but to find the orgasm they had been searching for. Widowmaker didn't stand a chance. Tracer knew exactly which buttons she had to push, and she did so without stopping to consider that they weren't alone in the small cell anymore.

Whoever came to visit saw Widowmaker sprawled out on her back, her legs wrapped halfway around Tracer, one hand in the Brit's unruly hair, one on her own mouth, and her yellow eyes fixed in shock to the door while her body convulsed with waves of pleasure, her eyelids fluttering as she struggled to keep them open.

The door was immediately slammed shut.

"You two must be _insane!_ " Mercy called out, trying to keep her voice down.

That was when Tracer's head shot up from in between the legs of a heavily breathing Amélie who was still slightly trembling.

"Wha-" Tracer stuttered, wiping her mouth clean with the back of her hand, a deep crimson color spreading quickly over her cheeks. Lena didn't even bother to look for the sheets. "You really need to stop just letting yourself in! This better not become a habit." She said, clearly embarrassed.

Mercy rolled her eyes "You can't be left alone, can you now, Lena?" she sighed.

"Hey, I..."

"It's ok, it's ok," Angela said, releasing a breath she was unaware of holding. Deep inside, she knew that this would happen sooner or later. And she wasn't talking about the time she walked in on them in Diskon; they had been just kissing back then. No, Angela was talking about _really_ walking in on them while they were at it. It was just the way they acted around each other. It was all the secrecy they had to display not only the past days but the past months, which led Angela to believe that there was no realistic chance that these two lovebirds could or would leave their hands off each other every chance they got. Besides, a certain desire for each other was perfectly natural. Mercy didn't voice that thought though. "I need to talk to the both of you" she added "So, please get dressed and uhh..." she looked around in the cell. Tracer's clothes were lying around everywhere and, of course, there was one of Widow's catsuits. "... I'll wait outside, ok?"

"...Sure" Tracer replied silently, the red color still very much prominent on her face almost at the same time to Widow's breathed

"... _Oui_ "

"You need to get some more clothes, Amélie" Mercy noted as she was about to leave again.

"We have that already on the list of things we need to do once..." Tracer replied in high spirits before her voice faded away.

"... you are certain that I'm not going to murder you all in your sleep" Amélie replied nonchalantly.

"That's what I need to talk with you about." Angela said with a brief smile before she left the cell as quickly as she appeared.

-/-

* * *

**Unknown location, France, somewhere near the coast, the following week, 1534 hours**

The car which pulled up in front of the huge mansion made no noise on the well-kept gravel courtyard which lay in front of the majestic building. Naturally it didn't, since it lacked tires…or wheels for that matter. All that was heard was the whir of the electric engine and the loud noise of heavy rain pelting down on the metal roof of the car. The skies were dark and full of threatening, spooky clouds, flashes of lightning flickering behind the clouds, lighting them up for but an instant, followed by the roar of thunder in the distance.

The driver of the car was visibly uncomfortable. He sifted in his seat, stiff as a log and further from relaxed than he had probably ever been in his life as a chauffeur.

"We're here, Sir" he said, stealing a shy glance over his shoulder, looking for but a moment at the passenger he was sent to pick up in the middle of nowhere at one of Talon's secret shuttle airports. He had been driving for eight hours since, and the guest he had picked up, clad in a black leather coat and wearing an intimidating skull mask, hadn't spoken a word the entire ride. Not once. Maybe it was for the better. Usually, the chauffeur was driving the board of directors of Talon to the mansion and back to the airport, so he was used to not asking any questions, but that didn't mean that he didn't know one or two things about _Reaper._

"Obviously." Reaper growled, looking out into the rain. He liked weather like today. Stormy with heavy rain and loud thunder. Harsh winds whipping the raindrops around like painful projectiles, the cold seeping into every fiber of one's body. It was beautiful in its very own way.

Opening the door, he left the warm safety of the car and was immediately greeted with exactly the same environment he imagined. Cold and wet. It even smelled like he imagined. Reaper took a moment to suck in a deep breath before he slammed the door shut again.

There were six soldiers positioned in front of the main entrance standing in the rain unmoving and uncaring. They stood guard like they were probably told to. Adding to the four guards at the main gate a few hundred meters down a gravel road leading up to the mansion that made ten guards so far. Reaper was certain there were way more…just not as easily visible through the dense rain. He didn't care enough to turn on the heat sensors of his mask.

"Agent Reyes!" a feminine voice called out for him, quickly catching his attention. Rushing out of the mansion came a woman dressed in a classic maid outfit hiding under an umbrella which was at least twice her size. Reaper felt himself grin under his mask, because he couldn't help but wonder how that woman wasn't flying away while holding on to the umbrella due to the strong winds. Hell, they were pulling on his heavy leather coat and the woman... or the girl, for she appeared to be rather young, was probably just as light as she was young on years.

She rushed over to him and struggled to hold the umbrella high enough for Reaper to stand underneath it. He was rather tall, and the maid was, well, not downright tiny, but there have definitely been larger women before.

Reaper pushed the umbrella back at her. He didn't mind a little rain "Already wet. Don't bother" he grumbled.

"I'm sorry, Agent Reyes. You arrived earlier than we anticipated." The maid replied, a lot more humble than Reaper fancied. The car that brought him here in the meantime turned around and left the property again, silently gliding off and vanishing behind the dense rain.

"You know my real name" Reaper stated, not making any efforts to hide the hostility in his voice while he followed the maid inside, not acknowledging the soldiers standing guard.

"I do" the maid said "My name is Gerda. I'm the head maid at this place and the personal servant of-"

"The big boss. Yeah. Figures" Reaper replied, his deep voice sending shivers through Gerda every time he spoke. He was right up there at the top of the scariest people she had ever met. Definitely in the top three. Gerda just wasn't sure who was scarier: Him or Widowmaker. Reaper seemed cruel. Not only that, he actually _was_ cruel and knew no mercy, leaving a trail of chaos and bloodshed in his wake. Widowmaker, however, was more cold than she was cruel. And that gave her an entirely different aura of danger. Where Reaper seemed like he'd enjoy torturing someone to death, Widowmaker was the kind of person to kill someone over spilled tea, should she be allowed to do so…which was perhaps scarier. Gerda hadn't seen Widowmaker awake often. Usually, when the maid dealt with her, the assassin had been knocked out by tranquilizers. It really didn't matter anymore. Talon's master assassin was no more. She had sunk to the freezing depth of the arctic ocean together with more than one thousand others. Buried in a cold, lonely grave. Strangely fitting for Widowmaker, Gerda supposed.

"Am I not to call you by your name?" Gerda asked carefully.

"I don't care. You already know" Reaper replied "So, say whatever. As long as you don't say it too loud. We won't be seeing each other again after today anyway."

"Of course" the maid nodded. "This way, Sir" she motioned toward a double winged door with another two soldiers waiting in front of it. As they approached, the two guards opened the door into a large room behind it.

Impressive windows made up the majority of the right wall. The heavy rain was drumming against them, running down the flat surfaces like waterfalls. A fireplace on the left side was lit, and old oil paintings were decorating the walls, showing god knows whom. Reaper didn't pay any of this much mind. He hadn't come here to discuss art. Some dark brown lounge chairs were surrounding a flat table. There was an old and rather large pendulum clock, which was ticking loudly despite the crackling fire. And two sets of knight's armor standing to the right and the left of the door on the far side of the room with two more soldiers standing guard completed the picture.

Reaper followed Gerda through the room in silence. He had to admit that it had a certain style; something lofty and sublime. Reaper could imagine living here. Minus all the guards. Just him and his family... well, at least what was left of his family after he had to leave everything behind.

He approached the door, but one of the soldiers blocked his way.

"Sir, I have to ask you to discard all weapons you currently carry." he said, holding a hand out to stop Reaper from walking further.

The black-clad man just chuckled deeply. Holding out his hand, he materialized a shotgun out of thick grey smoke and handed it to the soldier. Then another one. And another one. And another one.

"...Sir?" the soldier asked in confusion, struggling to balance the amount of weapons suddenly appearing in his arms.

"I can stand here all day long doing this until you drown in shotguns. Here. Want another one?" smoke came forth from Reaper's hand and quickly formed into a weapon. "And one more, maybe?"

"Sir. Sir? Please, I get it" the soldier said at a total loss "Just proceed."

"Good." Reaper said, and the small mountain of shotguns he produced dissolved in black smoke, seeping back into his body "Don't ever stop me again" he warned before proceeding into the next room.

It was an office, and a fairly normal one, all things considered. The desk was huge, however, with two chairs placed in front of it. One of which was already occupied by a woman with brown hair, a prominent side cut, and purple tips. She lazily turned around in her seat, waving Reaper "hello" with an uncaring shrug.

"Please wait here. You will be contacted soon." Gerda announced, and was gone before anyone else could say a word.

"Sombra" Reaper said, pulling the other chair back and taking a seat.

"Reyes" the Latina replied with a smug grin, apparently getting a kick out of knowing Reaper's real identity. "Fancy meeting you here of all places. Come here often?"

"...No" he growled.

"Ah, me neither. The first time, actually. Though I like the place. Maybe I'll make some adjustments in the Registry of Deeds"

"... Sombra" Reaper growled. The woman had a way of getting on his nerves way too quickly.

"What? It's a nice house, you have to admit."

"Why are you here?" Reaper urged, but Sombra just shrugged, unimpressed.

"Probably because of the same reason you are. The big boss wanted to talk to me. Speaking of whom, where is the fine lad?"

"I'm right here" a voice said. Reaper looked around in the room, but no one was there. "Thank you for coming here on such a short notice. We have important matters to discuss."

It took Reyes a moment longer than he liked to figure out that someone was speaking to them using a speaker system. Luckily, Reaper's face was masked, because he was certain that he wouldn't have been able to prevent the disappointment from showing.

"And I thought we'd meet in person" he said, audibly mad.

"Ah, yes. I'm afraid that won't be possible this time. But I'm sure we'll shake hands soon enough."

"What do you need us for, great illusive man?" Sombra asked, sounding like she was definitely mocking the man.

"It is time for our plan to move into the next phase. We have worked hard for this goal, and it is partly thanks to you that the world is the powder keg it is now. International relations are strained, human Omnic relations could not be worse, and all that is missing to ignite this beautiful mixture is nothing but a little spark. We'll proceed as planned, Sombra. I want you to bring Project _Gearbox_ online."

"With pleasure, Sir. It will be ready in a few days" Sombra replied "Which will conclude my contract."

"Indeed, it will. You can expect payment within a few hours after the successful launch has been confirmed." The bodiless voice said

" _Gracias_ " Sombra smirked.

"As for you, Reaper, I want you to carry out a special mission."

"Always ready to strike" Reaper said, keen to find out what the big boss was up to. Up until recently, Project _Gearbox_ was a hypothetical scenario. A rather large one at that. Not one intended to go live any time soon…or at all, for that matter. But now it was, and to be simply activated like this, and to be ready in only a few days, it had to have been in serious preparation for quite some time. Reaper quickly evaluated how that would change his own goals, and decided that it didn't matter. People will die either way. People have died already. People always died. What's a few more?

The voice on the other end of the speakers chuckled. "I want you to go to Berlin Monday evening. There will be a secret meeting of the board of directors; one I set up for you. I want you to go in, confirm that everyone is indeed there, and get rid of them all for me. Kill them. They have served their purpose. They kept Talon alive. But we don't need their money anymore. They became a liability, and now it's time for them to go. You will take their place as my second-in-command."

Reaper actually had to swallow. He did _not_ expect that. Not in the slightest. The board of directors was a secret council consisting of powerful corporations from all over the world which had decided that their interests weren't best served with the legal side of politics. Years ago, they were persuaded to fund Talon's rather expensive activities, and in exchange, they got a say in how Talon's missions would look. Killing the natives of an oil rich area in the rain forest? Talon's soldiers marched in with brutal force. Villages in the way of larger trading routes? Talon specialists poisoned the water supplies until the last villager was dead or had fled. Rivaling companies on the rise? Talon's assassins were there to handle matters. Politicians who didn't want to cooperate? Talon had the perfect hackers to dig up their dirtiest secrets.

It all played into the hands of the big boss who always managed to stay anonymous. Yet, the companies all got what they wanted. They made more money, in the end. Absurd amounts of money. So much that they didn't care what Talon actually cost them…simply because it didn't matter. It was enough, so they also didn't care what the big boss was up to on his own as long as their needs were met.

And now the big boss apparently decided the council's usefulness had come to an end.

Such a pity.

"I'm a freelancer. I was hired for the dirty work." Reaper pointed out, his voice with a slight edge.

The man on the other side of the speakers found this apparently amusing, because he, yet again, laughed. "And that's why I want you. Because you don't want to. You aren't ambitious. Someone ambitious is no good to me in that position. No, you are the perfect person. You get paid to do your work. Once you cleaned the mess up, you will have official command of Talon and will run it on my behalf."

Reaper growled in a slightly annoyed fashion. Inwardly he wanted to jump around the room in joy, but that was not the role he played here. God, Reaper was really looking forward to the time when all this ridiculous _pretending_ would finally stop. He was sick and tired of it.

"Oh, I see. Yes, of course. You are a freelancer" the voice seemed like it came to an important realization "And, naturally, you will be paid appropriately for your new responsibilities. Does that sound acceptable to you?"

"Sure" Reaper replied after a bit of carefully placed silence. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

"Excellent." the voice said "I take it you have met my head maid by now? Gerda will fill you in on the finer details of the mission. She will help you get settled in afterward as well."

"Great" was Reaper's less-than-enthusiastic response. And it wasn't even an act this time around. He really wasn't happy about the maid babysitting him. He didn't need someone watching him, and he especially didn't need the small maid from before. He really had hoped that he'd never see her again. There was something about her which didn't sit well with him.

"Where will you be? Holiday in the Caribbean?" Sombra wanted to know easily.

"Something like that. You have your orders. I expect them to be fulfilled perfectly"

"Yes, Sir" both Sombra and Reaper said in unison before the line went dead with a distinctive clicking sound.

"Well, Reyes, that leaves the two of us, right?" the laidback Latina sighed.

"Wrong. It leaves only you. Get to work, Sombra" Reaper instructed before he vanished in a cloud of black smoke.

"God, I cannot wait to get out of this loony bin" she uttered under her breath.

-/-

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> So, that concludes chapter 25. Wuhey!
> 
> I decided to make Reinhardt Pharah's father simply because I like the idea. I really enjoyed the theory that Pharah's skins are a mix of Ana's and Reinhardt's (Ana having minerals, Reinhardt metals and Pharah a mix of both) and I do think that Pharah's personality would perfectly fit as well. Also, I really can't wait until Blizzard releases new canon information, otherwise I could probably publish an update once every year. And that sounds like a really bad idea.
> 
> So yeah, Reinhardt is Fareeha's dad. Hopefully everyone is okay with that, because I'm not changing it now :D
> 
> Also, we saw a bit of Sombra in this episode. Maybe some of you can already guess where I'm going, but let's just say that she'll show up more often.
> 
> Thank you everyone for all the love and attention and feedback you all are giving me! It's really appreciated and I cannot say thanks enough. *bows in respect* You all are the reason this story is alive.
> 
> Special thanks, as usual, goes to the three angels (a guy, a girl and an attack chopper.) :P You guys rock, I couldn't do it without you :)
> 
> It was an honor, I will see you in the next one
> 
> o7
> 
> E82
> 
> P.S. I do get the feeling that there was something important I wanted to tell you, but I apprently forgot... oh well :D  
> oh right!  
> want to tip?  
> you can!   
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction


	26. The lonely road we walk

**Russia, near St. Petersburg, mechanized defense platform production plant, Volskaya Industries, 1218 hours.**

"Lady Volskaya? Is there anything else you need?" an attendant asked as the CEO of Volskaya Industries sat down behind the desk in her large and luxurious office. The whole room was more meant to be representative than strictly speaking practical, but the strong-willed matriarch leading the most advanced mech-production plant in the world liked her office nevertheless. The large relievo behind her desk testified day after day what hardships and struggles the Russian people had to endure during the Omnic wars, and served as a good reminder for why Katja Volskaya was doing what she was doing. She had a burning passion for protecting her people, and was absolutely willing to go to great lengths to ensure their safety.

The end justifies the means.

It was the way her father handled things. The way his father did and the father before him. Her whole family had always been like this. It was their legacy. They were the protectors of Russia.

Maybe Katja went too far sometimes; was too eager, too keen on progress and advancement. Maybe if she had been more careful she wouldn't have overstepped the mark. Then, maybe, she wouldn't have a certain _amiga_ to worry about now.

Even though it was more than a year ago, the mere thought about the day she faced the business end of a machine-pistol and thought she would die still sent a shudder down her spine. It may not have cost Katja her life, but now she was at a complete stranger's mercy.

Katja Volskaya naturally didn't like that for even a moment. She would have done anything to get rid of her new 'friend'. But her hands were tied.

Lady Volskaya shook her head in resignation, noticing that her loyal attendant was still waiting for her to answer his inquiry. The poor soul often didn't have it easy with his employer.

"Thank you, Vitaly. That will be all." she said with a professionally executed friendly nod while she got comfortable in her leather chair. She had some serious work ahead of her; work she wasn't necessarily looking forward to. It had to be done.

She watched with a sigh as her attendant acknowledged his dismissal, turned around, and left her office without a further word. The door whirred shut and clicked audibly, the lock obviously snapping into place.

That made Katja frown. Why was the door _locked_?

Someone cleared his throat, which made the woman jump in her seat and spin around toward the direction of the sound. She should be alone in here!

"Not that easy to get a hold of you, Lady Volskaya." a male voice suddenly said.

She wasn't alone.

Katja's shock seeped into her bones, freezing her in place and making it impossible for her to move even an inch. She was immediately reminded of the last time something similar happened. The panic and fear she experienced then. On the day she met her new 'friend' when someone sent an assassin to kill her. By some sort of cosmic miracle, the sniper tasked to eliminate her had missed her shot. Later, the CEO found out just who it was training a gun on her. It indeed was a miracle that she was still alive. After the failed attempt to shoot her, Lady Volskaya had been quickly escorted to her office. But she wasn't alone in the room back then either.

It had been the first time in Katja Volskaya's life that someone blackmailed her into friendship. Yeah, right, 'friendship'. That's what the Latina blackmailing her had called it. She needed a favor at some point. Up until now, Katja didn't hear from the woman who threatened to make Volsaka Industries' relation to the Omnics public.

And she apparently wasn't hearing from her _now,_ because if that would have been the case, her voice surely wouldn't have suddenly dropped one or two octaves.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Katja asked and tried to not sound as terrified as she felt. She thought that she did a good job with that.

Out of a dark corner of her office, a man stepped forward, wearing a blue, white, and red leather jacket and a mask hiding his face behind grey steel and a red visor. He was carrying a huge and intimidating pulse-rifle across his back as he slowly walked toward the desk, casually taking his time like a predator circling his prey.

"My name is not important for now." He said "What I'm here for, however, is."

Katja swallowed hard, folding her hands on top of her desk just to stop them from trembling. She really didn't want to ask the next question because, out of experience, it usually was answered the same way. There was a reason why she had basically a private army to protect her. The fact that this man even got this far was almost an answer in itself.

"And what might that be?" she forced herself to inquire, a voice in the back of her head asking why she _still_ didn't have a gun in her office.

The mystery man chuckled. "Well, not what you think now. I'm not here to kill you, if you're worried about that."

Lady Volskaya was taken aback. She did _not_ expect that. "No?"

"No. I wouldn't be here if I wanted you dead. There are easier ways to do that." he stated matter-of-factly. He gestured toward one of the chairs standing in front of Katja's desk. "Do you mind?" he asked. Volskaya shook her head and the intruder seated himself.

He took a moment to give the young CEO a once over. She definitely was a strong, independent woman, so much was sure. Then again, she always had been. She did what it took to protect her country, and that was a big plus in Jack Morrison's book. She was one of those people who strongly believed that the end always justified the means.

And, while practical and definitely result-bearing, it was also a dangerous attitude to have. Morrison knew that from experience. Everything had its price, and sooner or later, everyone had to pay up.

"Thirteen months ago you were blackmailed by a Mexican woman known as Sombra, is that correct?" Morrison asked.

Katja perked her eyebrows up and actually had to force herself to swallow the groan forming in her throat. How did this man know about this? She never told _anyone_. Not even her most trusted advisors, and surely not her family. Not her precious daughter, obviously, but also not her husband whom she loved more than anything. There was no one present in her office when Sombra talked to her. So how?

"What do you know about that?" Katja asked with serious interest. This wasn't like the last time someone had locked her in her own office and told her they weren't here to kill her. Sombra had been intimidating in her own sense. She seemed light-hearted and a bit funky, yet radiated a certain uncontrollable danger... which wasn't the way she was waving her SMG around like it was a toy, it was something else. Something more serious. This new stranger was surely not to be taken lightly in any way either, but so far he had yet to do something _really_ intimidating…like point his rifle in her face.

Morrison reached in his pocket and placed a small device on the desk in between Volskaya and him. He pressed the only button on the silver box with such detestation like the small apparatus had somehow personally offended him in a way.

" _Ok, listen... I'm here to make a friend. And show you something I found. Tell me... what would happen if the people of Russia learned that their defender against the Omnics was actually... getting their tech from the enemy? What would that do to the future of Russia?_ " Sombra's recorded voice sounded out of the small recording device. Volskaya frowned heavily. Where did that come from? How was their conversation recorded? It had to be impossible. Yet, she was listening to the proof that it was not.

" _What... do you want?_ " Katja's own voice asked from the device. _This is just not possible. How was this recorded?_

" _The most powerful woman in Russia? I've always wanted a friend like that. Soooo, I'm thinking. I don't let these images appear on every holovid in the world... and you help out your new friend every now and then..."_ Noise and voices in the background caused Sombra to pause for a second before she continued _"Clock's ticking... amiga._ " Morrison reached for the device and turned it off again, not being any gentler with it.

"I'd say I know everything" he stated, putting the device back in his pocket again. It was true. He knew everything thanks to Reaper who procured that audio file for him. For an elite hacker, Sombra sure was careless at times. Taking out her communication-earpiece didn't mean the thing wasn't transmitting anymore. It was a stupid mistake, but one that allowed Reaper and Morrison to achieve their goal maybe a little bit faster.

"What do you want?" Katja asked, this time not recorded, but for real. She had to admit that she felt more at ease with a stranger surprising her in her office this time around. Be that because she was used to it by now or because this time she didn't have a gun pointed into her face was up to discussion at a later point in time.

"Oh, something pretty small, actually" Morrison said, reaching into his chest pocket and retrieving a simple white business card. He placed it in front of Lady Volskaya, who took it in her hand. It had nothing on it but a single phone number. "We are rather certain that your Mexican friend will contact you within the next few weeks or months. All I want you to do is to dial that number once that happens. Tell them what Sombra told you, what she wanted, where she was going to be, possible meeting places. Everything."

"And why would I do that?" Volskaya wanted to know.

"Let me ask a counter question: Do you honestly think that she'll ever leave you alone? Because I promise you: she won't. You'll have to submit to her will for as long as she has those pictures she's blackmailing you with. Do you want that?"

"Obviously not."

"And do you have a plan to take Sombra's advantage over you away from her?"

Volskaya nervously rubbed her thumbs together, because truth to be told, she didn't have such a plan. At least, none which would have worked in any way. She slowly shook her head.

"Didn't think so. But my organization does. If she contacts you, you contact us."

"And how would that help?"

"Let's just say that Sombra won't bother you again if you help us. Nor will she bother your family. Also, you will get the compromising files she used to blackmail you; we have no use for those. I'm aware that doesn't mean much coming from a masked stranger you don't know, but I can assure you that my organization always stays true to their word. No exceptions. So, in a way, we are offering you help in solving a problem of which I know is causing you sleepless nights. How does that sound to you, Lady Volskaya?"

She hesitated for a moment. Deep down, she knew what _won't bother you again_ really meant, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She had a daughter and a family to look after. The masked stranger was absolutely right. Ever since Sombra burst into her life and indirectly threatened the safety of her little girl, she hardly slept at night. She doubt that he meant it in such a literal way.

Yet something wasn't right about this whole deal. Something was off.

"Am I trading one evil for another?" she wanted to know very carefully.

Behind his mask, Morrison rolled his eyes. He hated stubborn people. But if he was honest with himself, he wouldn't have trusted a masked man either. The way he was, Morrison was a complete stranger; a mystery man. He could have been anyone and everyone.

After hesitating for a moment, he stood up from his chair and leaned over Katja's desk, reaching for his mask with one hand. Pulling it off, he looked her straight in the eyes and couldn't suppress a one sided smirk when he saw her swallow heavily.

"You... Commander, you are supposed to be-"

"Dead? Didn't take" he shrugged, suddenly Reaper's words seeming rather fitting.

"But-"

"No buts, Katja" Morrison told her firmly, putting his mask back on. A long silence was spreading in the office while Volskaya apparently had to process what was just revealed to her. She remembered Jack Morrison from her childhood. Her father often had much to do with Overwatch when it was still running in all its former glory. Back in the day, Morrison was the shining hero at the top of the organization. Katja might have had a silly girl crush on him when she was a child, but that was a long time ago. When she grew up, she admired his charisma and authority, and promised herself that she'd try to be like him one day; a determined and strong willed, unwavering leader like he was.

It wasn't a bright day in her life when Katja heard that Jack Morrison was killed in an explosion at the Overwatch headquarters in Zürich.

"You will hear from me once the time comes." Katja finally said, taking the card and putting it in her pocket.

"Good" Morrison nodded "Thank you for your cooperation" he said, getting up from his chair and walking to the door. "Have a pleasant day, Lady Volskaya."

"Wait, that door is-" _Heavily guarded._

"Oh, don't trouble yourself. I came in that way." Morrison replied with a careless shrug, and simply left through the front door like he was allowed to do so.

Katja Volskaya was left behind, completely baffled.

-/-

* * *

**Watchpoint Gibraltar, outdoor area, late afternoon**

Dark clouds were starting to obscure the formerly bright blue sky. The ambiance was quickly getting heavy, loaded with electricity. The dry air was growing increasingly muggy. There was a storm building and everyone could feel, see, and smell it. The heat of the past days was finally seeking its relief in the form of a heat thunderstorm. Nature was yearning for water, the plants along the beautiful footpath around the Watchpoint were starting to dry out and the grass had lost its lush green color days ago. The wind was gently picking up a bit of speed, and the temperature was slowly beginning to drop. Finally.

Amélie, Lena, and Angela were sitting on a wooden bench, facing the ocean. A gentle breeze brushed through the three ladies' hair, letting it sway back and forth softly with every small gush of chilly air. Amélie was sitting in the middle, with Lena to her left and Angela to her right. They saw the shadows of the heavy downpour falling to earth far afield above the ocean. The storm was coming closer, but they still had time; important time to talk about even more important matters.

Mercy decided to address these issues somewhere outside; not in her office space in the sickbay. She had talked to her colleague, Dr. Laguardia, about the little problem he ran into while trying to work with Widowmaker. The story was hardly surprising to Mercy, who knew that, despite Amélie being a legitimate badass, Talon's 'treatment' had to have left scars. It would have on anybody. They _made_ her the badass she was now. Before, Amélie had just been a regular woman. They would have to go back to the infirmary soon enough, so Mercy thought it might be a good idea to have their talk outside…even if the weather could have been better.

Angela could imagine that her new friend's problems only surfaced once she realized that she got away. That she made it. She escaped Talon. When she still had been under their total control, her mind and body held in the tight grip of Talon's iron fist, Amélie herself might not even have noticed how deep the scars she was suffering really were. She let it all happen, numb to the pain it caused her, blind to her own fears, all overshadowed by the knowledge of what would happen if she stepped out of line, or blurred by being made to forget.

No. Angela understood why this was a problem. She understood why Amélie had such difficulties walking inside something reminiscent of a hospital or a laboratory. Hell, she herself had severe problems taking the cold showers she had loved so much because of what Talon did to her, and she had only been in their hands for a few days.

"I screwed up, _non_?" Amélie stated after a while when they just kind of silently sat on the bench. Lena was holding her hand discretely, so that no one who would randomly walk by could see.

"No" Angela replied firmly. "No, you did not screw up. You did nothing wrong, ok?"

"I almost killed the doctor, and..." Widowmaker fell silent.

"Oy, that's not your fault, alright luv? I mean it's not something you wanted to do, right?"

"I..." Widow choked, because she really wasn't sure. A part of her _wanted_ to do it. She wanted to go for the kill, drive the pen into Laguardia's throat, and choke Tracer to death. A part of her always whispered murderous ideas into her ears.

"Don't torture yourself because of it, Amélie. What happened in the sickbay was nothing medicine couldn't explain, and Dr. Laguardia knows that just as well as I do. I want to talk to you about what is going to happen from here on. Don't worry, it's nothing bad" Mercy smiled supportively before she added "Though I suppose it could be better."

"You talked to Morrison yet?" Tracer wanted to know.

"I did. He got a preliminary report from Dr. Laguardia and followed his recommendations." Angela took a deep breath. "For the next three months you are under my supervision, Amélie. Which means you basically have to follow me around. I know this isn't ideal and definitely not what you wanted, but I-"

"It's fine" Amélie stated, exchanging a quick glance with Lena.

"Don't worry. I'll make sure you two get enough time together." Mercy reassured. "I'll work something out. Besides, I'm sure I can loosen Morrison's regulations over time. He just needs to see that you are trustworthy. So, it might not be the full three months after all."

Widowmaker nodded slowly. Truth to be told, she didn't care. She got away from Talon and she was close to Lena. She had everything she ever wanted, so if she had to follow Mercy around all day, so be it. There were worse fates. The Swiss doctor was a nice woman and someone Amélie actually trusted. She stood up for Amélie in Diskon, defending her against the accusations of the Overwatch search party. That made her a... friend, maybe, if that was what friendship was supposed to be. Widow had no way of knowing.

"But she can't stay with you all day long, can she?" Lena asked "I mean, she has to sleep somewhere, right?"

Angela inhaled sharply "That's the problem. Morrison expects results. I need to run some samples and, well, I have to keep you at the sickbay for a week or two." It was easy to pick up how uncomfortable Mercy was with this herself. But she had little choice. Her discussion with the Overwatch commander made it rather clear what he expected from her. Mercy's hands were tied, and she had little options in the matter. "I know this is not ideal for you. I know that, and if there could be a different solution to this I'd take it. But there isn't. If it helps, I'll always be there and, if you want to, Lena can also stay."

Amélie registered the words, but didn't respond. She just stared blankly at the horizon, the heavy rain slowly coming closer and closer toward them.

"Amélie?" Lena's soft voice asked, her thumb stroking fondly over the back of Widow's cold hand.

"You know I never wanted to hurt you, _chérie_?" she suddenly asked.

"Of course I do. Hey, don't worry! It's just you, Angela, and me. I'm sure you won't freak out again. It's just a room; nothing wrong with it. Nothing bad will happen to you, innit right, Angela?"

" _Natürlich nicht._ I'll be very careful." Angela replied, and sounded like she was actually a tiny bit offended by the implications. She was a _doctor_ for crying out loud. Her whole life she had dedicated to _helping_ people. She would never hurt someone who didn't deserve it intentionally. Yet, those who _did_ deserve it... but that wasn't Amélie. She didn't deserve any part of what happened.

Widowmaker nodded after a moment. She always had such a tight grip of herself, knowing exactly what she was doing and how. Losing control like she did the last time was nothing she enjoyed. And to think that she almost hurt the love of her life _again_ because of it made her sick. It made her doubt her ability to stay in control of her very own mind. It made her feel fragile, and Widowmaker hated feeling fragile. She wasn't fragile. She never was. When she was still with Talon, she kept an iron grip on her mind because, not only did she know what would happen if she didn't, she was also numbed down far enough to simply function the way she was intended. There was no trust involved. There was no mutual respect between her and the scientists. None.

That was different now. Her body was slowly becoming hers again. The dense fog in her mind had started clearing out a while ago and she was steadily able to see things for what they really were again. Amélie was getting a, however slim, sense of _self_ back. She knew Angela. She trusted her, and not only because Lena trusted her (which admittedly played a big part). The Swiss doctor had Amélie's wellbeing in mind when she caught her in bed with Tracer, and she respected their wish to keep it a secret.

This wasn't Talon.

There were at least two good people here. Two people Amélie felt like she could trust unconditionally.

If self preservation had been enough motivation to keep calm at Talon, then surely trusting her friends would be more than enough here. If they said everything was fine, everything was god damn fine. Lena was always right about those things. When she said Amélie didn't need to worry, she didn't need to worry. Period.

"Then what are we waiting for?" Widow asked.

"You sure?" Tracer asked with a slight frown.

"I told you before and I meant it" Amélie said plainly, "I trust you. What you say counts."

Mercy didn't add anything, but she thought what she just witnessed was both terribly cute and also a tiny bit scary. There was this unwavering loyalty in Widow's voice. It was that utter determination. Angela was sure that Lena didn't even notice herself, but she was certain that Amélie would simply do whatever Tracer told her without second guessing it and no matter what it was. And that _was_ a bit scary.

"Alright, then let's go before we get an involuntary cold shower." she said, getting up from the bench and straightening her white coat with a few brushes of her hands. Angela _still_ was unable to take her beloved cold showers. Attempting to do so brought with them events the kind doctor didn't want to relive again.

The storm was getting closer, the wind already chilly and the remaining light was growing rather dark, yet Angela was still able to make out a form in the distance waving her to come over. "You two go inside. I'll be right with you. I just need to take care of something real quick, _ja_?"

"Sure thing, luv." Tracer shrugged and took Amélie with her. Mercy watched them for a moment. She watched how they held hands and walked back inside. Lena, despite being smaller, held Amélie close, like she was protecting her.

Mercy turned around and walked in the direction she was called to moments prior. After a few steps, she saw Genji standing on the footway with an Omnic gracefully levitating next to him, his mechanic fingers folded together in his lap. It was an older model, which had obviously seen a lot of action in its lifetime, but nevertheless, the Omnic emitted a peaceful sense of tranquility.

"Ah, Dr. Ziegler. Thanks for joining us. I didn't want to disturb your conversation." Genji said courteously, not hiding some excitement in his voice.

"Of course, Genji" Mercy replied with a small smile "What can I do for you?" she wanted to know, nodding to the Omnic as form of greeting him.

"I wanted to introduce you to my spiritual mentor. This is Zenyatta. I was able to convince Commander Morrison to let him join our cause and I wanted him to meet the woman who saved my life" Genji explained "Master, this is Dr. Angela Ziegler. She developed and constructed my cybernetic body and allowed me to live on."

The omnic made an artificial noise reminiscent of maybe a soft hum. It actually sounded quite endearing. "It is a true pleasure to meet the woman who saved my brightest pupil's life." The artificial voice of Zenyatta was friendly and calm. From the first moment Angela heard him speak, she knew why Genji had accepted the Omnic as his mentor. Wisdom and sereneness were so apparent in this Omnic simply from the way he spoke.

"The pleasure is mine. I was only able to safe his physical form. From what Genji told me, you were the one who truly saved him." Angela smiled. She was well aware of Genji's trouble after she had completed her work on him. How he felt like an outcast and an abomination. How he was too human to be a machine, but too little to be entirely human either. He was too much of both, but neither of which, and it was tearing him apart. After he had completed the task Angela had reconstructed him for, he was restless. He had wandered around aimlessly in search of something he once had, but somehow lost.

Zenyatta was able to give it back to him. He brought peace into his soul and allowed him to come to terms with who he once was and who he had become. Following Zenyatta's teaching, Genji was able to accept his own nature and subsequently became a different man. He was in balance with himself ever since.

"The one cannot be without the other" Zenyatta said, folding his hands differently. It was intriguing to watch how he was able to re-position his hands so fast without breaking a finger.

"That is true" Angela nodded "So, you are going to stay with us for longer?"

"That was the idea, indeed" Zenyatta replied "My young apprentice told me you could use all support you can get, and I strongly believe in helping those in need. Fighting a just cause is always a reason to stand up and stand for what one believes in."

"Have you met the Commander yet?" Mercy asked.

"That is yet to happen."

"We should go there soon, Master. Commander Morrison has a lot to do." Genji said.

"Then we should let him wait no longer" Zenyatta bowed to Mercy "It was a pleasure talking to you, Dr. Ziegler."

"My door is always open should you need something" Angela smiled "Oh, yes. And just a quick tip: Stay clear of Torbjörn for a while. He doesn't get along with Omnics very well... and neither does Zarya, come to think of it. Give them some time to adjust and I'm sure they'll come around."

"Your advice is appreciated. I will be careful."

-/-

"You know, I was never really afraid of anything" Amélie told Lena, the two of them standing in front of the closed doors leading into the infirmary. She snorted a short laugh, "Except for spiders when I was still young..." Widowmaker paused for a long moment, as if something suddenly reminded her of an oddity. "Don't ask me why I remember this..."

Tracer looked at her girlfriend in a funny way, tilting her head sideways " _You_ were afraid of spiders?" she asked, definitely not entirely convinced. _Widowmaker_ was telling her she had been afraid of _spiders._ Easy to spot what's wrong there, yes? Definitely not what she expected.

" _Oui._ Strange, isn't it?" Amélie smiled weakly. She faintly, in a distant corner of her mind, remembered a moment of her childhood. A spider she thought was monstrous at the time had been sitting on the wall above her bed. Little Amélie was terrified and ran to her mother for help. She remembered the spider vividly, sitting there on the wall at the edge of a shadow, staring at her like she was her prey. Large and black, with menacing dark hairs all over its predatory body and long, thick legs. She could remember the large spider's intimidating pedipalps moving, like it was devouring something. All those memories were etched into Amélie's mind. Yet, she couldn't remember her mother's face for the life of her.

"Well, considering you have a spider tattooed onto your back. Yeah, a little strange, indeed." Lena giggled, and her girlfriend joined for a moment before she became dead-serious again. She was strangely silent for a bit, and Tracer just waited for her girlfriend to speak up again. It was one of those special silences; heavy but uncomfortable in a way.

Lena knew by now that these pauses were usually followed by something from Amélie's past she didn't particularly like to remember. It was best to just say nothing and let her figure out how and what she wanted to say. Widow always told Lena what was occupying her mind…it sometimes just took a moment or two for her to sort through her hazy and confusing thoughts and memories. Lena knew that. She understood.

Amélie looked straight ahead at the orange door leading into the infirmary, like it provided some kind of help for speaking up again.

It didn't.

And while Lena was usually aware that those remnants of Widowmaker's past weren't fun stories, she wasn't really prepared for _this._

"They keelhauled me as punishment when I got the tattoo." Amélie stated as if it wasn't a big deal. "I somehow remember being pulled underneath the freighter I was stationed on at the time rather vividly. They chained me up and tossed me into the ocean. I remember being pulled beneath the surface almost immediately. My hands and feet were tightly tied together so I couldn't escape while they slowly pulled me underneath the metal hull." she said shaking her head. She looked over at Lena and decided to not share more of the story. Her girlfriend looked like she was about to cry. The truth was, the sharp Balanidae and Goose barnacles stuck to the freighter's hull tore Widowmaker's naked skin open like knives. If her lungs hadn't been burning from the lack of oxygen, and if she hadn't been certain that she'd drown any moment, the pain from being cut by all those dirty sea shells would have been enough to make her crazy. Miraculously, Widowmaker didn't drown…nor did she go crazy. She woke up weeks later in one of Talon's labs, her body covered with bandages. One of the scientists told her if she ever did something without permission again, they'd do worse.

At least she got to keep the tattoos. This was all that mattered to Amélie.

"They..." Tracer swallowed heavily, not daring do repeat what her lover just said. She let her hand run up Amélie's back, tracing the outlines of the stylized spider on her cool back "Because of a tattoo?"

"It covers the scars they left on me, so it was worth it." Widow shrugged. She enjoyed Lena's fingers on her back. She enjoyed how her light touch was softly brushing over her cold skin. Amélie had to concentrate so she wouldn't start humming. "Eventually, they made it something to recognize me by." She said.

"I'm so sorry" Tracer replied, removing the hand from her lover's back, thinking it might make Amélie uncomfortable. It obviously didn't, but Lena had no idea.

"It's hardly your fault." Amélie actually tried to laugh. "You always seemed to like it." she added a little sheepishly. Often, when they were together in bed after they had their fun and were simply talking about anything and everything, Lena would stare at the ink on her skin for hours while Widow was lying on her stomach. She let her girlfriend's eyes wander over her for as long as she wanted, willingly brushing her hair out of the way so Lena could get a better look. Amélie would only ever do this for Lena. She was the only one allowed to stare. It was a strange feeling, being watched like this, the intensity, the heat she felt on her body, but Amélie somehow enjoyed it greatly. Simply because it was Tracer looking at her like this; like she was the most beautiful _woman_ in the world. Not a fascinating walking weapon, not a science project, and not something to merely lust after. Nothing but a real human being with emotions, and fears, and all that. Tracer was the only one who ever respected Amélie fully like she was. Lena had always been there for her unconditionally, never expecting anything from her in return, and never trying to force her to do anything. That same woman liked looking at her, telling her how pretty and special she was, and it felt great whenever such words left Tracer's mouth. Widowmaker never understood why people thought she was beautiful. She never thought so herself. But Lena obviously did. That made it special and something to hold on to.

"It's awesome" Lena confirmed silently. Suddenly, it didn't feel appropriate to think so anymore. The beautiful mark on Amélie's body suddenly turned into something painful and something bad.

"I'm glad you like it, _chérie._ Because I thinks it's quite nice myself." Amélie said and sounded relieved of something. Maybe it was alright to like the tattoo after all? Lena just wanted to say something when Amélie took a deep breath and opened the door into the sickbay, taking a decisive step inside. "You coming or what?" she asked with a perked up eyebrow.

Lena shook her head "Sure. Right behind you." she said, following Widow inside. For Lena, the infirmary was nothing she would ever be afraid of. She had been here so many times. Luckily, more often because she was simply paying Mercy a visit and not so often because she needed Mercy's service as a doctor. Sure, she got injured from time to time, but so far the number of friendly visits surpassed the number she had to be carried to her best friend.

The otherwise sun-flooded sickbay was gloomy and somber now, all because of the storm which had meanwhile erupted above Gibraltar. The strong windows cancelled all noise from outside, but one could see the rain washing against the glass walls, falling down like waterfalls. The periodic, yet erratic flashes of lightning were an annoying disturbance in the corner of the eye, and the way it illuminated the furniture inside the sickbay for but an instant was downright spooky.

Tracer groaned, reaching for a console embedded into the wall right next to the door. "Let me turn on the lights; this is too dark." she said, letting her fingers dance over the touch screen of the console. A moment later, the lights of the infirmary awoke to life, slowly powering up and bathing the sickbay in increasingly bright light, almost as warm in color than real sunlight.

"Do you know what happened to the doctor I attacked?" Widowmaker asked, standing in front of Mercy's desk, letting a finger run over the cool marble. The golden picture frame was gone. Laguardia had moved to his own office the other day.

Somehow being here for the second time and already knowing what awaited Amélie wasn't as bad as the first time had been. Maybe it was because she was alone with Lena, or maybe it was because it was her second visit, but Amélie didn't feel as tense and upset as during the last visit anymore. That is not to say she wasn't feeling a tiny bit queasy. But one quick glance at Lena alleviated that problem.

Amélie had no idea what she'd do without that never ending source of goodness. Lena really was a bright ray of sunshine which had just suddenly appeared in her life.

_'I'd still be Talon's slave... and I wouldn't even realize it.'_

"Laguardia?" Tracer asked "He got his own office. Morrison said he'll stay with us and accede to the new head of the psychological department. Angela had been doing this before, but she is hopelessly overworked. I'm sure she can really use the help despite her always insisting that she can manage. He is now her subordinate in a way, I guess." Tracer scratched her head, wondering what it was like for Angela to talk about herself and her personal problems with someone who was professionally part of her council and, as such, her subordinate. Well, then again, what little remained of Overwatch's formerly prestigious medical department was barely more than a shadow of its bygone glory. The personnel had been drastically reduced a long time ago. Up until recently, Mercy had been the only medical professional Overwatch had to offer. The Swiss doctor was naturally correspondingly stressed out.

"I see. So, he is fine?" Widow wanted to know, but didn't really sound like she was all that much interested in the doctor's wellbeing.

"Yeah. You didn't hurt him, if that's what you're getting at." Tracer said simply, already suspecting that this wasn't what her girlfriend meant.

"I was more worried about the consequences for us, _chérie._ Honestly, I don't really care about him." Amélie said with a careless shrug while she walked around Mercy's desk, wandering a bit further inside the infirmary. The sickbeds were all neatly tidied up and ready to host patients, but so far all unoccupied.

Tracer sighed heavily, not really knowing what she expected. Amélie was like this all the time. She only seemed to care about Lena and, to a certain degree, about Angela, but other than that, the French beauty was still very much _Widowmaker_ with all her cold cruelty. Tracer knew that. She also knew that she was the only one who could get Amélie under her thumb should it be necessary. Sometimes the thought scared Tracer. What if she wasn't around when Amélie felt threatened? She just hoped that no one at Overwatch would be stupid enough to deliberately piss off _Widowmaker._ Her reputation should prevent this, Tracer reasoned with herself. Still, the idea was uncomfortable.

The truth was, Widow didn't waste a second thought to what happened to the people around her as long as she knew that Tracer was fine. Laguardia was just another obstacle to overcome on her way to being with Tracer and hopefully making her happy. She couldn't have cared less about how the doctor was. All she cared about were the consequences it would have for her and Tracer. Amélie would do _anything_ for her Lena. She'd jump out of a window if that's what Tracer wanted. She'd follow her into the deepest pits of hell, and she'd kill for her without any hesitation. Damn, she _had_ killed for Lena; the two cops on the rooftops in Numbani. She shot them because they meant trouble for _Tracer_.

Amélie was aware that her British lover had probably not the first idea how much she really meant to her. Maybe it was better that way. But the fact remained, there wasn't a thing Amélie wouldn't do to protect Lena; to keep her safe and happy. Overwatch's most iconic hero deserved to be happy more than anything.

Dwelling on that thought for a moment longer, Amélie turned away from the sickbeds and strode toward the middle of the infirmary, behind the large bookshelf separating Mercy's desk from the rest of the sickbay. Her eyes fell on the large glass tube standing there, reaching from the floor to the ceiling. It was fixed in between two pedestals, one on the bottom and one on the top, a few stairs leading up to the glass tube on the bottom one. Tubes and colorful wires were running in neatly organized paths on one side of the instrument, a small desk with a relatively large screen connecting to the unit, the wires plugged into some instruments stacked in a rack underneath the desk. The socket of the glass tube was made from brushed metal and was, just as the glass tube itself, absolutely clean. There wasn't even the hint of a dust grain to be seen. The glass itself had a slight orange shimmer to it, just like most glass surfaces in the Watchpoint tended to have.

It was _nothing_ like the scanner Talon had on board their swimming headquarters. No messy wires, no filthy tubes, and no dirty glass with signs of crusty furring in the corners.

Yet, it was just the same.

Amélie stared at the large instrument for some painfully long moments. She had been in there many, many times. Most of which she didn't remember. What she _did_ remember, however, was how everyone watched her undress. She felt the prying eyes of the scientists on her body. They followed her every move when she stepped up into the scanner. They were glued to her when the scans were running, and they didn't leave her until she was dressed again. Widowmaker _hated_ to be watched like that.

She _hated_ that piece of equipment and how she was always made to get naked. But the scanner wouldn't work properly otherwise. And disobeying meant punishment. You didn't want to get punished at Talon; Widowmaker learned that _very_ quickly. So, she learned to accept it, keeping a straight face at all times and paying special attention to not care about what was going on. Soon enough, she really _didn't_ care anymore. She grew accustomed to the way she was treated. Used to the way she was used. She grew numb to the outside world.

But deep inside, she still detested everything about the procedure.

"Luv?" Tracer asked, carefully putting an arm around Amélie's waist. "Everything alright? You seem a bit out of it."

"Huh?" Amélie blinked. " _Pardon, chérie._ It's just, they used that thing at Talon a lot. I don't exactly have the best memories of it."

Tracer looked up at her girlfriend, a little bit confused. "Why is that? It's just a scanner. Get in, wait a moment, get out. Done and over. They can tell you what's wrong with you. I've done it a thousand times." Lena said with a supportive smile. She had no idea what the problem was. Chances were that thing was the most harmless piece of technology at the Watchpoint, possibly even more harmless than the coffee brewer. You could burn yourself with that hellish machine. Not that something like this would have ever happened to Lena. Noo. Never. What a ridiculous thought that was.

"I know that... It's just..." Widowmaker spun around and shrugged "You know what, forget it. That's in the past now, isn't it?"

Tracer nodded slowly "Well, I actually don't know if Angela wants to do a physical examination of you as well. She might? We'll have to ask her." she said carefully.

Amélie swallowed. "But it's only going to be you and her, _oui_?"

"Sure. Who else? Want me to wait outside?" Tracer asked with an impish smirk on her lips, causing Amélie to roll her eyes.

The sound of the door opening was clearly heard in the infirmary, followed by hasty steps on the floor. "Who will have to wait outside?" Mercy asked, coming around her desk.

"That would be me" Tracer shrugged.

" _Papperlapapp, Süße._ You stay exactly here." Angela smiled, picking up on the currently rather light and easygoing mood Amélie and Tracer somehow managed to create after the rather serious subject they discussed before. "I need you to keep me safe, you know. I don't enjoy choke-play too much." she said with a teasing wink at Amélie, who just shrugged.

"Neither did Laguardia, apparently." she replied, dry as a desert.

"I see you haven't lost your special sense of humor, Amélie" Mercy inhaled sharply. "But let's start for now, ok? I'd like to discuss a few theories I think might happen with you in the future, Amélie, and explain the treatment plan I came up with. Don't worry; there is nothing to be concerned about. It's always going to be only you, and me, and Lena if you want her to be here. Nice and easy. If you get uncomfortable, just tell me and we'll take a break until you feel better. How does that sound?"

-/-

* * *

**Unknown place, unknown time**

"Sir?" Sombra said, her fingers dancing over a keyboard. "Project Gearbox is prepared and ready to go. On your mark, Sir."

"Then let us begin with phase one" the shady person standing behind her announced. His face was bound in bandages. All that was visible were his deep green eyes, shimmering with anticipation.

Soon, he would have achieved what he always wanted. Against all odds. Against what everyone always told him.

He'd be at the top of the world.

At last. It was a long ride, but definitely a fun one. He took great pleasure in getting where he was now, and even if he knew that his goal wasn't fully reached yet, he was positive about it.

Sombra typed a few commands into the console in front of her. Code kept appearing and disappearing on the multiple screens in front of her while she shuffled through various terminals. The Mexican hacker was a true artist when it came to computers. Of course she was; it was the sole reason Talon had hired her and was willing to overlook her tendencies to stick her nose into things that weren't her concern. After all, it wasn't like it mattered in the end what Sombra knew and didn't know.

"Done. Phase one is online. The production plants are booting up. I have to warn you though, Sir: I tried my best to mask the high energy demands of the production plants, drawing power from multiple different sources, but I cannot guarantee someone won't notice it and start to dig around."

"Just set the sites to automated defense and that should do the trick."

"Already done that, Sir" Sombra shrugged carelessly "Just wanted to let you know."

"Excellent. Tell me once we have sufficient numbers to release the next God Program with enough efficiency."

"As you wish, Sir. We are looking at a month…maybe a little more." Sombra replied and flinched when she felt a strong hand pat her shoulder.

"That's acceptable. It's a shame you want to quit after this job, Sombra. Are you sure I can't convince you to stay afterward?"

 _Oh, hell no._ Sombra screamed internally. _I'm getting the fuck out of here asap._ But she couldn't tell him that. Now, she was really happy that she hacked into Talon's main database to find out everything she needed to know about her employer. He didn't take kindly to people telling him _no._ "Well, if the money is right, I do whatever you want me to, boss. It's business, after all" she said instead. Nevertheless, she still intended to make a run for it as soon as her current contract was fulfilled. As long as she could keep off the radar and not start talking about Talon, Sombra was certain that she would be left alone.

"That is good to hear. We'll talk about this once we bring the next God Program online. Does it have a name yet?"

"The project name was _Achlys_ so far, after the Greek spirit of death-mist."

"I like it. Keep it." The big boss said. His voice was eerie, downright scary, and penetrating through anyone's ears with a brute force capable of freezing someone inside the soul.

"Of course, Sir." Sombra replied. _I'm so out of here as soon as this shit is done._ Luckily, Sombra _always_ had an exit strategy. Not even Talon had the most powerful woman of Russia within reach. They tried and they failed. Though Sombra had to admit that the last time they tried and failed was because she herself set off the alarm.

Otherwise, Widowmaker would have landed a clean headshot. Like she always did. Fascinating woman. Scary and fucked up in more ways than Sombra cared counting for, but fascinating nevertheless.

"Oh, and Sombra?" The hand still on her shoulder squeezed tighter. " _I need you to do me a favor, if you please._ " He whispered into her ear, his voice echoing in Sombra's skull.

Her eyes lost focus.

Her brain went numb.

"Whatever you desire, master" she replied automatically. A menacing smirk spread across his lips.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Alrighty boys and girls, that's it for this episode of Addictions.
> 
> A few announcements:
> 
> Yes, Pharmercy WILL happen in this story. Give me some time, I can't work miracles. But be aware, it is going to be a SIDE pairing.
> 
> I apologize for the long wait, really, I'm truly sorry, but it was for a good cause. I have been writing a few chapters in advance to make sure my story works out the way I want it to. Originally I wanted to complete the entire thing and only start publishing again once I'm done writing. But I think it's fine to publish what I have now (yes, there are a couple of chapters already done and currently undergoing beta-reading), I don't think I'll have to go back again and tweak something.
> 
> Also, I have to write term-papers, so I'm crazy busy and I don't want to keep you all waiting for longer than necessary. I really hope this is fine for you all.
> 
> Let me thank you all for your continued support and absolutely amazing feedback! You people absolutely rule!
> 
> Special thanks as usual to my three angels.
> 
> I hope you all are having a fantastic time! Keep rocking!
> 
> o7
> 
> E82
> 
> -/-  
> If you want to support the story, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction  
> -/-
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Papperlapapp (German) = fiddlesticks!
> 
> Natürlich nicht (German) = of course not.
> 
> Pardon (French) = sorry.


	27. Good morning.

_"Why I did it? Actually, I don't think someone ever asked that. Though I think everyone will soon wonder. I guess most people would be utterly disappointed to hear my reasons. They all expect something big behind everything; some elaborate scheme or some cunning ploy. To ordinary people, everything has to be motivated by something bigger and something more important. It's pathetic, I'm telling you. That's the small mind's way of compensating with what they are. Expendable. Unimportant. They don't matter. So, they try to create a world where bigger things than themselves are caused by bigger people, bigger reasons, and bigger events. That's complete nonsense. With the right resolve, they could have gotten just as far as I did. Small minds just think in small ways. That's all there is to it. Once you realize that you can also think outside the box, the world changes and so do the rules you play by. There are no rules. To tell you the truth, I did it because I wanted to see how far I could go. It's that simple. Long ago, I tasted the wonderful taste of how good it felt to have power over someone. It was intoxicating. I wanted more. I wanted to see how far up the ladder I could climb using any means I could come up with. When I noticed that I was getting stuck in the route I chose for myself, I created my own out. The easiest way to do this is to create demand for your skills. In my case, that was mostly someone to go up against. This is one of the biggest lessons I learned. Humanity always needs an enemy. Naturally, the Omnics came to mind. Someone just had to dare to do what it took to utilize their potential. Godprograms were easy to come up with, especially with the right specialists. They were easy to abuse for my goals, but they lacked elegance and refinement. Loose cannons these Omnics, especially when one of their artificial gods spooks through their heads. But they were brutal, which was good for starters. Later, I took what was a loose idea before and officially founded Talon for this reason. To create a smoother, more elegant enemy for humanity. Something they could fear, but not hate. You can't hate what you don't see, yet you fear it all the more. And it worked like a charm. Maybe too good considering where I'm sitting now. Without Talon, I would have never been able to successfully go official. Soon running as candidate for the UN general secretary. But I'm getting off the track. Politics are the best example for what I just explained. Humanity needs an enemy. Look at all the great dictators of the world. They all shared one thing: A boiling hatred toward someone else. Hitler had the Jews, Stalin the Bourgeoisie, and Trump the Muslims. I have the Omnics. None of those people truly hated their boogieman, they just used them for their own goals and, in the end, got them almost eradicated; some more efficient than others. I'm no different in that regard. I don't hate the Omnics. In fact, I don't even mind them at all. But I won't hesitate to turn them all to scrap if it gets me somewhere. Am I ashamed to mention myself in a row of mass murdering individuals? No. Definitely not. They all were, at one point, the most powerful people on this planet. There is no shame in that. I have no ambitions to play fair in this game. That was never fun before. No. I want total control and absolute dominance over what my property is and I want it at any cost. Besides, it's not like I'm gassing people, nor do I build gulags in Siberia or nuke them out of existence. I am creating scrap metal for the most part. Nice and easy. Sure; there will be human casualties, but that's war for you. The price you pay for power, I guess. And if I fail while grasping for power, then so be it; I was too weak. But I know that I'm not weak. I would have never gotten this far if I was weak. I'm willing to do what it takes to reach my goal. And with that new face you created for me and all the spare parts, I am one step closer to getting what I want. Power for the power's sake. It's that simple. Does that answer your question, Professor?"_

_-Thiery Savant in conversation with the head of Talon's biotech division, hours before the entire staff along with its head was executed for "security reasons"._

* * *

 

**Watchpoint Gibraltar, three days later, 0615 hours.**

The mess hall was filled with people, just like it always was no matter what time of the day. Usually, the place was well visited all around the clock, be that either because of free coffee and the opportunity to discuss things with colleagues and friends, or because of the 24-hours hot kitchen.

Right now, most guests of the mess were probably here for the coffee. It was the fuel which most of the personnel at the Watchpoint needed to function even rudimentarily normal.

This early morning was the start into the day for most of the people employed at this almost legendary place on the rough cliffs of Gibraltar, either as part of Winston's science teams or as unofficial agents and soldiers of a now illegal Overwatch. It didn't matter; they all were out to get their breakfast, a cup of strong coffee, and a little bit of chit chat to start the day properly. Usually, from the mess hall, everyone had a breathtaking view of the warm sunrise behind the ocean in the morning, the seconds when the sun decided to grace the glistering surface of the ocean with its first rays of magical light.

It was a sight to behold. Usually. But the past days this wasn't meant to be. The thunderstorm which arrived a few days prior still hadn't decided to leave Gibraltar alone again and, from the looks of things, it still wasn't planning on doing so anytime soon. Of course, that meant the view outside presented little else but a sad, indistinguishable sludge of never-ending grey colors and lots of heavy rain and clouds. Occasionally, a stray ray of lightning flickered through the thick clouds, quickly becoming an annoying throbbing pain in the corner of the eye. It was quite depressing. But that didn't do the mood of most people any harm.

What _did,_ however, was the presence of one certain French lady.

In any environment where people were living on top of each other for longer periods of time, any kind of news usually spread like a wildfire.

The news that _the_ Widowmaker was granted access to the Watchpoint spread even faster. It was almost faster than the speed of light. The problem was that no one really seemed to know a lot about the reasons or motivations behind it. To most of the people at the Watchpoint, Widowmaker, one of the faces of their _enemy,_ just suddenly appeared and seemingly was meant to stay.

And that wasn't good news to most people stationed at the place. But Widowmaker had been locked up in the beginning, so it still could be reasoned she was a prisoner. That changed quickly when word got out that the very same assassin was now allowed to walk around the base. In constant company of an appointed agent, granted, but walk around nevertheless. A lot of those people were even _less_ happy after that, if at all possible.

Some were rather vocal about their opinion…at least toward Commander Morrison when he announced his decision two days ago.

The commander told his men to suck it up and fall back in line and that they weren't here to make friends but to fight a just cause. He told the group that there was a bigger picture that not everyone might have been aware of. It seemed enough to shut most of the personnel up for the most part.

Considering how many lives Widowmaker had taken in the past, lives of Overwatch-members mostly, lives of friends and family of the people stationed here, it was hardly surprising that everyone needed to get used to the idea of the number one nemesis of Overwatch suddenly standing right in the middle of it. And no one was allowed to lay a hand on her.

Now, Amélie was sitting at a table in the corner of the mess hall together with Tracer enjoying a Croissant with some butter and a cup of black coffee. Lena was having a bowl of her usual cereal, which was disappearing at an alarming speed... and not because it was particularly tasty or Lena especially hungry. No, the truth was Tracer just tried to keep her mouth filled with something or she might have fallen into a hissy fit. There was just something about the way people were walking past them, just to stop for a second and stare at Amélie like they saw a ghost, their eyes lingering on her spider-tattoo for but an instant. Most of them just seemed to be thrown off a little bit, deciding that this obviously wasn't within their payroll, or remembering Morrison's words, but some seemed to contemplate opening their mouths. Lena couldn't help but glare daggers at those until they moved on.

It just wasn't fair. Amélie didn't deserve this. She wasn't the enemy here. None of what happened to her was because of her choosing, yet alone her fault. No one seemed to get that though. Or even bothered to think about it. To most, Widowmaker was simply evil. Easy as that.

It was exactly that kind of attitude -the habit of labeling people for someone's own convenience - that made Tracer angry. It didn't happen often that the go-lucky tomboy with the unruly brown hair got angry.

Lena could _really_ look scary if she was angry. It was enough for everyone to decide that voicing whatever thought they had probably wasn't worth the trouble.

But the last guy apparently wasn't getting the hint to _fuck off._ Lena glanced over to Amélie, who was sitting in her chair, apparently not caring about anything around her other than her simple breakfast. She was playing her role as the lone wolf turned lone refugee here really well; not allowing herself to show any obvious hint that she and Lena knew each other better…let alone were an item. She just wore the same blank, emotionless and cold expression on her face which screamed ' _I'm here because I want to be, not because I have to be, and I'll happily murder you in your sleep should you dare talk to me'_ so loud it could have been a public announcement on the news _._ Of course, that wasn't really helping people to get over their reservations concerning the former Talon master assassin. It was, however, enough to make most people avoid her and just give her weird looks from the she seemed to not even notice, or better yet, not care about. Of course, she noticed. Widow noticed _everything_ going on around her.

Yet, despite doing an amazing job of _pretending_ , Amélie's girlfriend saw right through her. Lena had little trouble figuring out just how uncomfortable the gorgeous French woman really was underneath that icy facade of infinite cold and nonexistent emotional empathy. How judged she felt whenever someone walked past with that contemptuous look on their face, the one they all had when looking at Widowmaker.

Like she didn't deserve to be here. Like she was unworthy of being accepted here.

What were they thinking? Did they not know what she had been through? No, of course they didn't. They just saw Talon's former killing machine; the one who murdered the oh, so great Gerard Lacroix in his sleep. His own wife. They only saw the years-old betrayal; how she turned to the dark side to murder and assassinate people all over the world. Comrades, friends, and even family. That's what Amélie was to everyone else but a select few at the Watchpoint.

They didn't see a human. They saw a killing machine. Maybe one with malfunctions. Something filthy, something inhuman, and maybe something _dangerous._

Not a person.

It made Tracer sick how judgmental people were around here these days. No one seemed to care when Hanzo joined the team. Hell, that guy was technically a criminal no matter how smooth he talked. But everyone seemed to easily forget that he tried to murder his own brother and would have actually succeeded if not Mercy. Genji had been _dead._ He was just brought back. Hanzo's handiwork undone by a wave of the Swiss doctor's divine hand.

He was forgiven.

Yet, no one even bothered to think about what circumstances might have caused Widowmaker to become who she was.

Lena swallowed her cereal to give the guy wearing the uniform of the tech-department and currently staring at Amélie a piece of her mind, yet the young technician beat her to it.

"What is _she_ doing here, Agent Oxton?" the man hissed, his voice full of spite. "Isn't she supposed to be shot on sight? She is responsible for murdering my brother. She is the reason I joined the fight. And now I'm supposed to accept that we share breakfast in the same room? I don't get it. Are we now taking in the bad guys if they are just about good looking enough? Is that it?" he growled, his voice shaking and his eyes burning into Tracer, the insult regarding her sexual preferences not going unnoticed by Lena.

Amélie didn't even raise her head as she peeled a piece off her Croissant and slowly put it into her mouth while subtly shaking her head to Tracer, telling her without words that her lover didn't need to defend _her_ honor here. Amélie didn't expect that people would welcome her with open arms. She was tolerated and that was all Widow asked for. Everyone who mattered to her was Lena and Angela. And both of them were treating her more than kindly. Anyone else didn't matter. Amélie not only couldn't, but also really didn't, care. Then again, the guy did just insult Lena as well. And that made Amélie really, _really_ mad internally.

Slowly, she turned her head to fix the guy with one of the deadliest stares he had ever seen in his life. Her intimidating, bright golden eyes were piercing his skin. He could almost feel the sharp sting of her dagger-like gaze tearing his flesh apart. Her features were stern and hard, her lips pressed together slightly and her eyes absolutely fixed on him like he was nothing more than her _prey._ He suddenly got why some people had also nicknamed her 'the Huntress', a large portion of his young being regretting that he said something. Now, it was too late. He had opened his mouth.

"What did you just dare to insinuate?" she hissed, her French accent more prominent than usually. The words rolled off her tongue like velvet, yet they neither lacked the precision of Genji's blade nor the punch of Reinhardt's hammer.

Surprisingly, the guy wasn't forfeiting just yet. He held Widowmaker's intimidating gaze, albeit not without a certain nervousness. "I suppose it was what-"

Someone cleared his throat rather loudly from behind the young technician "And _I_ suppose that isn't really your problem here, is it, _pojke?_ " A mechanical piece of prosthetic pushed the young man out of the way, revealing a dwarf with a long blond beard standing behind him, looking pissed. Well, at least as pissed as he usually looked. Torbjörn was always in a foul mood. "She is here because Commander Morrison granted her refugee. He explained his decision to us all as best as he could, even though he didn't have to do that. This isn't a bowl of cherries where you can pick out what you like, rookie. You'd do good to not question his judgment while I'm around. The Commander has his reasons, and you are nowhere near important enough to know them. And neither am I, for that matter. That's the military for you. Don't like it? Leave. We don't need troublemakers like you around. They get good men killed." Torbjörn pointed his prosthesis to the next emergency exit. "Now go and mind your own damn business before I have to make some improvements..." he made a dramatic pause "... to your face."

"...Sir?"

"Off you go!" Torbjörn shooed the technician away before he climbed into the chair next to Widowmaker, placing a plate with bread and some cheese in front of him. "That guy," he sighed, shaking his head slowly, "works in the development department. Has a smart head on his shoulders, but speaks before thinking... Ahh, he'll come around eventually. Still new and such." Torbjörn chuckled deeply before looking at Tracer with a shrug. His eyes wandered to Widowmaker, upon whom they came to rest. "So, isn't the doc supposed to have an eye on you? Make sure you don't go out and murder us all while singing _row row row your boat?_ "

"Mercy wants to wake Fareeha up today." Tracer replied instead of Amélie, whose left eyelid was twitching once. "She's really busy. Apparently it's a rather complicated procedure…or soI've been told."

"Aye, I see." Trobjörn replied with another chuckle "So, the doctor decided our token dyke here should see to it that you don't get into trouble, is that right?" he said easily while chuckling "Don't see what could possibly go wrong here, considering _her_ reputation as your copybook lady-killer."

Amélie now turned to glare at the Swedish dwarf. What was it with people here insulting Tracer's sexuality? Yet, for some strange reason, the Brit didn't seem to be the slightest bit offended by it. In fact, she was giggling.

Was he just _chaffing_ her? God, social interactions were _annoying._ Widowmaker wasn't used to them…at least, not anymore. Sometimes scenes felt familiar, but she could never really recall.

"Well, at least I can look my girlfriend in the eyes without her having to kneel down, Torb." she teased, and Torbjörn joined in on her laughter. _Ahh,_ Amélie thought, _they know each other. He wasn't insulting her, it seems._

"Pah! Why would I need to see someone's eyes if I can enjoy their glorious butts!" he shot back.

Lena pointed her spoon at him, waving it up and down a little bit "True" she nodded "Though you'll never get to steal glances at someone's wonderful cleavage without standing on a stool. And that's just a little too obvious, don't you agree?"

Amélie perked up an eyebrow, looking at Tracer in all her cute 5'4" and how she was way too small to look most girls into their cleavage, too. "With your height, neither can you, _chérie_." she stated dryly, picking up another piece of her breakfast, while inwardly cursing herself for letting the affectionate nickname she gave Tracer slip. "Also, I usually don't sing while killing people. Gives your position away. Can't have that."

"Oho!" Torbjörn exclaimed "She talks!" he said with a gleeful smile on his lips, apparently either completely ignoring the nickname or not even noticing it. "Who would have thought?" He said, shaking his head while stroking through his, admittedly, pretty badass beard.

"Hey, Torb, be nice, ok?" Tracer said seriously.

"Ahhh, someone is being protective here" Torbjörn laughed "I see, I see" he said causing Lena to blush violently, so she quickly hid her face in her cereal bowl, muttering "like hell you see."

"But of course! I'm nice." Torbjörn waved her off "Amélie and I have talked before, haven't we? That was a long time ago, when you were still with that Gerard scumbag you just had to marry for some reason."

 _That Gerard scumbag. Scumbag._ Amélie felt the words echoing within herself as she blinked a couple of times, a single image flashing into her mind.

_Green eyes staring at her. A loud noise and an intense pain in her face. He slapped her. Hard. It wasn't the first time. It won't be the last._

"I... don't remember, I'm afraid. The woman you knew is long gone." Widowmaker said, cold as ice, subconsciously rubbing her cheek. There was no need to pretend. Despite the name she carried, she wasn't _Amélie_ anymore. She would most likely never be again. What Talon did to her could never be undone completely. It would mark her until the end of her days. It was a burden she would never lose.

For a moment, some heavy sadness passed through Torbjörn's eyes "So, that's how it is?" he said bitterly. "Well, I suppose it's better this way." he said, turning back to his bread and suddenly taking a special interest in the cheese.

"What do you mean with that, luv?" Lena asked when Amélie just stared.

"Interesting conversation to have in this situation" Torbjörn tried to laugh to lighten the mood, but it didn't help "Well, I guess better do it now than later. What do you remember about your husband, Gerard?" he asked Widowmaker. She shivered visibly for a moment.

"Nothing, really" was the cold reply. "Fragments at best."

"And I suppose they are all _very_ pleasant and feel _really_ happy?" Torbjörns voice was dripping with sarcasm so heavy he could have used a bucket to collect all the irony flowing out of his mouth.

" _Non._ "

"Didn't think so." Torbjörn replied "He was a bastard. Few people knew. Very few. But he wasn't good to you; not once. Let's just say I won't pity his death. In fact, I applaud you for drawing that line. I wish it would have ended differently, but that's not my business. I should have killed him myself long before you had to, Amélie. And everyone who knew him - _really knew_ the guy - will tell you that. He deserved what you did to him." The dwarf said bitterly, grabbing his now empty plate "I should get back to work." He said, and left without another word.

Amélie and Lena sat in silence for a long time after Torbjörn had returned to whatever business he needed to tend to. Widowmaker was sorting through all the memories she had regained, which weren't a lot, by any stretch of the imagination, but still a fragment here and a piece there. Every time she thought about her husband, she couldn't find a single positive emotion connected to him. Not one. Even the piece she had from the day of what she supposed was her wedding felt strangely... bitter.

"Is it true?" Amélie asked silently.

"Luv, I don't know. I never knew Gerard. Maybe you should ask Angela next time?"

Amélie nodded slowly. "I wish I could remember. Some things are slowly coming back but... nothing makes any sense. It's so weird. All I know for sure and can rely on is you and the memories I have about you. Everything else is... a mess."

"Don't worry. It will come back eventually." Lena said, smiling a shaky smile at Amélie who nodded. She really wished she could help her gorgeous French lover. But Tracer couldn't. There was nothing she could do for her no matter how much she wanted to. But maybe she could show her that life wasn't only suffering. That the world had something else to offer other than pain and regret. That there were also more than enough nice things hidden in the details, the little things, maybe not visible at first glance, but even more worth discovering when one bothered to look closer for a moment. "Hey, how about we take a little trip to town today? I know the weather is crap, but whatever. Angela isn't around, so I'm basically in charge. We could go out shopping and get you some clothes," Lena beamed and let her eyes wander down Amélie's neck and into her _very_ generous cleavage. "Not that I'm complaining about this outfit."

Amélie smirked, glad that the topic of the conversation had shifted to something more... mundane. Something further away from her past. She didn't feel ready to talk about her husband and her former self yet. Which annoyed her, because she used to be ready for everything. During her time at Talon, she didn't fear anything. But Widowmaker was smart enough to understand, without a doubt, the reasons for this. And those reasons were artificially imposed on her, enforced by chemistry and people messing with her brain. It wasn't natural. Which doesn't mean she necessarily enjoyed what was happening to her now, as she was starting to gradually get better, regaining memories and actually remembering things, events, and people. Mercy had theorized already that the effects of Talon's memory-resets might 'wash off' over time. Though how long it might take, Angela didn't know. Amélie didn't like that feeling of constant uncertainty at all. She was painfully _aware_ of all the holes in her story, and it made her feel pathetic.

Lena's change of topic allowed Amélie to seem strong again. And she liked feeling strong. It made her feel safe. Ridiculous, considering who she was talking to here, but Widow couldn't help it. She was concerned that something between them would change when Lena found out what was done to Amélie. Or when she herself fully remembered again. The mere thought of Tracer not smiling at her the same way again was almost physically painful. That goofy, slightly silly grin she was getting now? It was so honest, so full of affection, and full of trust. It made the sunlight's warmth and brightness fade in comparison. Amélie wouldn't risk that for anything in the world.

"You really like girls, don't you?" Amélie hummed into her cup of coffee, glancing at her girlfriend over the edge of the black ceramic.

"Oh, my god!" Tracer gasped mockingly, pretending to be surprised and pressing a hand to her mouth in a ridiculously overdone fashion. "What a shocking revelation! I'm really gay? Who would have guessed...!?" Lena rolled her eyes jokingly. "C'mon! What do you say, Blueberry, just you and me? It'll be fun!"

Amélie raised an eyebrow and put her mug down again. The idea of going out with Tracer alone was great. It might have been something oddly mundane, and something most people did on an everyday basis without wasting another thought about it, but for Widowmaker this was different. It was new to her. She never went out for a _normal_ day in town ever before. At least not that she could remember. "I'd love to" she smiled gently, causing Lena's eyes to light up like a child's on Christmas. "However, I do see two problems."

"Aww luv, don't ruin this now." Tracer pouted, but was ignored.

"First of all, am I even allowed off base? I don't want to get you into trouble." _Valid point_.

"Morrison never stated anything in that regard. He said you have to be accompanied at all times by an agent appointed by either him or Mercy. And since Angela appointed me for today-" Tracer stopped to mutter a quick " _god bless her for being the absolute best best friend I could have asked for_ " before continuing. "- you have to follow me around. So... should I decide I'll have some things I want to get in town, you don't really have a choice other than coming along now, do you?"

"Mhh" Widow mused "Solid reasoning, I guess. Alright. That brings me to the second problem: We go to town, I like that idea, really. But I'm dead, remember? And you parading a blue woman with yellow eyes and purple hair around in broad daylight seems a bit... obvious? I'd rather not have Talon find out I'm still alive."

Tracer just grinned a little wickedly, most likely getting the wrong mental image out of _parading Widow around,_ when she suddenly stood up and nodded Widow to come along "Way ahead of you there, luv. C'mon, you'll see."

-/-

* * *

 

Angela took a deep breath.

This was it now. Either it worked and Fareeha would wake up within a few seconds or... or she would never wake up again.

_Stupid. This is so stupid. It's all my fault. She should have never come along to Zürich. None of this had to happen. But she insisted. She wanted to protect me. She had that look in her eyes; that same spark she had when Ana allowed her to visit when she was a child. She was so adorable back then. Looked at me like some kind of angel. Such a sweet child._

"Doctor?" A nurse asked carefully, pulling Angela out of her daydreaming.

" _Entschuldigung_ " Mercy replied hastily. "Let's begin. We'll start slowly with 20 ml of nanoprobes at first and see how she reacts."

"Of course, doctor." The nurse nodded and turned to retrieve the said amount of nanoprobes from Mercy's staff. It was safely stored away inside a machine designed for exactly that purpose. During battle, Mercy could use her staff as a form of beam weapon to keep her comrades safe. For that reason, the nanoprobes were programmed to repair physical damage in the field and would safely self-destruct after they had done their job. A body which wasn't genetically altered to produce its own nanoprobes, like Angela had altered her own body, would suffer grave consequences if it couldn't get rid of the probes. Hence, the self-destruct.

Angela knew that she had two options if she went ahead with her plan of injecting re-programmed nanoprobes into Fareeha. The one she hoped for was that the probes would serve as a bridge between the severed nerves in Pharah's neck, allowing her to wake up again. If everything went according to plan, the nanoprobes would help the nerves to slowly grow back together, something which was usually impossible. Should that happen, Angela could slowly decrease the dose of nanoporbes she would have to give to Fareeha in periodic time intervals.

However, if that _didn't_ happen, then Angela had only one other option: And that was Fareeha becoming dependent on nanoprobes for the rest of her life. She would have to decide if she wanted to receive them from Angela every few weeks, or if she wanted her own body altered to produce them.

The decision may seem simple. Never get sick, heal from any damage the own body suffers, and never age. As much as a miracle of medicine it was, it had its down sides, too.

Only years after Angela had tested her technology on herself did she realize that people around her were getting older. The people she had fought with for long years were slowly starting to age and, eventually, it dawned on Angela that one day she would be alone. She and Jack Morrison were the same age when they joined Overwatch. And now he looked like he could be her father. Reinhardt was no different, and neither was Torbjörn. Her friends were growing old and she wasn't. Mercy was stuck in time. Well, not really in time; she wasn't Tracer, but Angela's clock had just stopped ticking. A part of her always hoped that she just stopped aging and would still die eventually, but the rational part of herself knew this wasn't the case. The nanoprobes were keeping her body alive for as long as she didn't shut them off.

And that was something not everyone necessarily wanted. Imposing it on someone felt like the wrong thing to do.

So, Mercy decided to treat Fareeha with reprogrammed probes first, wake her up, and then ask which way the muscular Egyptian preferred.

"The probes are ready, doctor." The nurse said, handing Angela a standard syringe with a glowing yellow liquid inside. It was almost hilarious how stupidly simple it was to apply nanoprobes. A syringe. One of the oldest pieces of medical equipment she could think of. And it contained the most advanced creation modern medicine could come up with. Ironic, wasn't it?

"Please turn her around" Angela demanded. Another nurse sprang into action, pressing a couple of buttons on the side of the bed Fareeha was placed in. A moment later, the patient was lifted into the air with a soft hum of the bed, levitating above it like she was held by invisible strings. Naturally, that wasn't the case. Any modern ICU sickbed had top notch repulsor-technology installed so patients could be positioned ideally in cases of emergency without causing them any discomfort.

Fareeha, wearing nothing but the plain white tunic any hospital was giving its patients, was turned to her stomach, her back facing upward.

Angela stepped up to the Egyptian and carefully brushed away her thick, black hair. It was surprisingly heavy, Mercy noticed, in the back of her head. She lined up the sharp end of the syringe with Pharah's neck.

"I'll go slow, so please keep her vitals in check."

"Yes, doctor."

Angela inhaled sharply before she slowly pressed the glowing yellow liquid into Fareeha's neck.

"May I ask a question, doctor?" one of the nurses spoke up.

"Go ahead" Angela replied, still slowly pressing the nanoprobes into Fareeha.

"You can resurrect the dead, can't you? And it completely undoes any damage people suffered before they died, doesn't it?"

"Yes, and yes." Mercy nodded, frowning slightly before realizing what the nurse was getting at "No. No, no. God, no. That would be…No. I mean. I can't kill her just to resurrect her now, can I?"

"I was just asking doctor, since you seem to be concerned about the side effects of your nanoprobes."

"I... the possibility never crossed my mind, to be honest" Angela admitted, carefully removing the now empty syringe from Fareeha's light chocolate skin.

"I guess it would be wrong for a doctor to kill someone on purpose, too." The nurse said supportively.

"And you'd be completely beside the point" Angela sighed. "Turn her back around please"

"Doctor?"

"You heard me" Angela replied, waiting for the nurse to let Fareeha glide back into the bed again. _This might take a minute or two._ Angela mused, watching the sleeping Egyptian closely. So much work went into such a simple procedure. The tricky part wasn't applying the probes; anyone could have done that. No, the tricky part was setting them up correctly.

"How can you say it's alright for a doctor to kill?"

"Listen, it's the duty of any respectful physician to help people. And there are two ways of doing it. Either by helping those in need, or removing those who do evil. Both helps."

"How can you say something like that, doctor?" the other nurse gasped.

"Have you been to war before, _Schwester?_ "

"N-No."

"Well, I have. And let me tell you, the atrocities some people are willing to commit during war are beyond what you could imagine if you haven't seen it with your own eyes. We're talking poisoned water supplies, contaminated first aid kits, toys for kids…which have a tendency to explode. You can't help every one of these victims. But you can find and kill the one responsible for everything. Then, you helped."

"So, you are saying the ends always justify the means?"

"No. I am saying that helping people can be achieved in various ways. You can't look at a statue from one angle and claim to have understood it wholly. You need to walk around it at least once and-"

Mercy didn't finish her thought as she caught Fareeha's eyelids twitching before she slowly opened them a little bit. The light inside the ICU must have been blinding, because the Egyptian blinked a couple of times, trying to readjust her eyes to the new brightness.

Angela basically teleported to Pharah's side faster than anyone could have imagined. "Fareeha? Can you hear me? How do you feel?" she asked softly, but Fareeha only groaned "Are you in pain?" Mercy wanted to know before quickly looking up to one of the nurses. "Give me her vitals; hurry!"

"Heart rate at 53 bpm, blood pressure is 130 to 85 mmHg, ECG and EEG are unobtrusive." One of the nurses replied almost instantly, reading the numbers off a holographic chart. Everything sounded good so far; especially for a woman with Pharah's fitness, so no need for concern.

"A-Angela…is that you?" Pharah asked, her voice sore and small. She sounded like speaking was extremely taxing to her. "Where am I?"

Mercy couldn't help but smile a little bit just because Pharah had finally dropped the 'Dr. Ziegler' she would usually use to address her.

"Yes, it's me, Fareeha. Don't worry; you are at the Watchpoint in Gibraltar. Everything is going to be fine soon. I need you to tell me how you feel." Angela's voice was little more than a whisper as she crouched down beside Fareeha. She couldn't even begin to describe how relieved she felt that her Egyptian bodyguard woke up again. Mercy had no idea what she would have done if things had backfired.

A part of her _needed_ to cure Fareeha to be able to go on. The mere thought of someone being hurt because of her was horrible for Mercy. And not just someone. Fareeha Amari was not just anyone. She was not just the woman the little girl Angela showed around the watchpoint all those years ago had grown into, and not just the only living descendant of Ana Amari. Fareeha was a good girl... a good woman. Serious most of the time, but Angela saw she had a lot of potential for being silly behind all that seriousness. The time they spent in Zürich before everything went to hell was actually a great time for Mercy. She enjoyed the company. It was relaxing. Fun. Something she hadn't experienced in a long time. She couldn't place it, nor did she really think about it. All Angela knew was that, ever since Widowmaker saved her from Talon and literally carried her to safety, she yearned for that feeling again. Being around Fareeha was nice. Relaxing. Angela felt like she could be completely herself. A feeling she usually only had around Tracer, whom she knew for years. Yet it was also completely different.

"Fareeha?" Mercy repeated, worried when the Egyptian didn't speak up again.

"I can't feel my hands or my legs. I can't move either" Fareeha said. The way she put it, as a completely dry and rational observation, made the statement even more cruel. "Far be it from me to do your job, Dr. Ziegler, but I think I might be paralyzed."

Mercy caught her breath, trying to not let the disappointment show on her face. _Right_. She could move from here. _Something like that was to be expected. Baby steps. Take it easy. You can do it_. Fareeha will be her old self again soon enough.

She took a pen out of her white coat and carefully poked Fareeha in her finger. "Can you feel that?" she asked, and Pharah shook her head. Mercy moved the pen upward "That?" Again, Fareeha shook her head. Angela's lips curled in disappointment. "Here?" Again, the answer was "no". The doctor tried a couple more spots, but the answer was always the same. Fareeha was indeed paralyzed from the neck downward.

"Sorry." the Egyptian said after Mercy put her pen back into the pocket of the white coat.

"Absolutely not your fault." Angela replied, sounding a little defeated. Rationally, she knew this was a possibility. But emotionally, she still felt like a failure as a doctor. "Do experience any pain?"

"My neck tingles strangely, but it isn't painful"

"Good. That's the nanoprobes I gave you. Listen, Fareeha; don't worry. You were shot in the head and were in a coma for a couple of weeks. It would be unrealistic to expect you to hop out of bed like nothing happened. That said, I guarantee you that, when I am done, you won't notice anything ever happened. That is a promise." Mercy said with determination.

Fareeha smiled brightly, almost like a child. For a moment there, Angela couldn't help but see a seven or something year old little Fareeha standing in front of her, gawking at the smallest things at the Watchpoint like they were miracles. She wore the exact same smile back then.

"I know you will. Don't worry about me, doctor."

Mercy frowned slightly "You are taking this very well." she noted, a little surprised. Mercy had been there before; telling a patient that they were paralyzed. Most soldiers didn't take kindly to the idea that they wouldn't be able to rejoin the fight anytime soon…if at all.

"The best doctor the world has ever seen is patching me up. I'm confident I'll be putting my legs to good use soon enough. Until then, bitching and moaning won't get me out of this bed any faster, right?"

"It won't" Mercy cracked a smile. "I'll work something out for you, alright?"

"Sure" Fareeha nodded, watching Mercy turn to leave the ICU. She had other duties to tend to and, at the moment, there was nothing she could do for Pahrah. "Dr. Ziegler?"

"Yes?" Mercy stopped at the door and turned back. Freeha had a silly smile on her face, her eyes were glistering. Had Angela checked Pharah's vitals in that moment, she would have noticed her pulse increasing by a significant margin.

"When I can walk again, I think I owe you dinner. Well, actually, I owe you a lot more, but I'll start repaying my debt with dinner, if that's ok with you. So, would you let me treat you to a nice place?"

For some reason, Angela blushed fiercely. She had no idea why. This wasn't the first dinner invitation she had gotten. It wasn't the first time a patient of hers was thankful.

But it was the first time her heart skipped a beat for some reason she couldn't comprehend.

It was the first time she accepted.

-/-

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> If you want to support the story, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction  
> -/-
> 
> So, that's it for chapter 27.
> 
> Next time I guess we'll be taking Widow and Tracer shopping. Why? Because they deserve some quality girl time with just the two of them and some peace.
> 
> Also, we might want to check out what Reaper is up to these days.
> 
> Mhh, was there anything else I wanted to tell you? No, I don't think so.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading! I'm super happy that you all apparently enjoy what I'm doing! Don't hesitate to share your thoughts with me, I'm always happy to read your opinions! So, yeah, thanks for all the love! It really means a lot to me, you probably can't imagine how much, really. Cause it's all I really have.
> 
> Special thanks, just as always, to the three angels, EhMattissimo my most trusted beta-reader, River Rhyme and of course the one and only Azuki Rose!
> 
> I'll see you lot in the next one
> 
> o7
> 
> E82
> 
> -/-
> 
>  
> 
> translations:
> 
> pojke (Swedish) = Boy.


	28. Going shopping

**El Zabal, Spain, 1306 hours, maybe half an hour drive from Gibraltar.**

"Does Angela always let you borrow clothes from her?" Amélie asked, looking down on herself and not wearing her skin tight latex suit anymore for the first time in what felt like ages. Instead, she wore a black pair of pants and a grey turtleneck shirt with long sleeves. A dark navy blue coat completed her attire for their little outing. Amélie's hair was pulled into a tight topknot making its striking violet color seem almost as black as the coat she was wearing.

The parts of her skin which weren't covered by clothes were covered with white makeup. True, it did make her seem rather pale, but one had to take a very careful look at her to notice the light color was really just because of makeup and not because of extremely fair skin. Tracer did a surprisingly good job applying the everyday camouflage. For someone usually not wearing any makeup, Lena really was rather skilled when it came to applying it.

"Ah well, you know. I figured asking for forgiveness is easier than asking for permission" she laughed a tad nervously, parking one of the Overwatch pool-vehicles in a parking lot inside the small town near the Watchpoint.

Widowmaker just gave her girlfriend a blank look, tilting her head to the side.

"Relax; I'm sure she doesn't mind. Besides, she was the one who said you have to get new clothes. That's what we're here for!" Tracer said, getting out of the car and grabbing an umbrella from its trunk. The sky was still pouring rivers down onto the earth below, and Lena didn't want Amélie's makeup to start washing off. That would be... bad. "C'mon" Tracer beamed and reached for Widow's hand, leading her into the town.

Amélie actually enjoyed the walk a lot more than anything else in quite some time. She was holding the umbrella simply because she was the taller one of the two women. Being the tomboy she was, Lena protested at first, apparently thinking it wouldn't be proper for her to take Amélie out on a date and make her hold the umbrella. Widow just smiled and took the rain-protection from Lena's hands, getting the most adorable little pout in response. The Brit was too cute at times.

Walking down the street, the pattering of the rain on the plastic surface of the umbrella, the two lovers fell into a comfortable silence. Amélie enjoyed the warmth of Lena's body pressed to her side, their arms interlinked with each other. It felt nice. _Normal._ Somehow. Like they didn't have to hide from anyone or anything and, in a way, they really didn't have to. The chances that someone would see them and actually recognize were close to zero. That alone was relaxing. Widowmaker had no idea where they were going, but she didn't seem to really mind. She was perfectly content just following where Lena was leading her.

People weren't really paying them much attention, even when the sidewalks were getting busier and the town more and more urbanized. Despite the horrible weather, a lot of people were out, minding their own business and browsing through the various shop windows of the many stores the small town had to offer. Ignoring the weather, it was a beautiful place to be.

Soon enough, Lena led them into a rather large outlet with more clothes on display than anyone could have ever needed for basically anything. It was surprising that a place as large as this one had enough customers here. It was a rather small town, after all, barely large enough for people to not know each other anymore, with enough individuals walking around for two new faces to not draw any attention.

The store was rather well-visited as well. A lot of people were browsing through the various sections, searching for whatever they needed. Apparently the weather got people in the mood for shopping longer than they normally would. Salesmen were walking around answering questions and helping customers wherever they could. It was a rather busy place, and Amélie actually stopped a few steps into the store to take a look around. The interior was freaking _huge_ ,and she had absolutely no idea what to do here.

"So…Where do you want to start?" Lena asked in high spirits, smiling at Widow with the goofiest expression on her face.

"I actually don't know, _chérie._ " Amélie shrugged ever so slightly. Tracer thought for a moment that her girlfriend seemed a bit off, but she figured it might have been because she was actually out in public for the first time, not out at night trying to kill someone. Tracer cringed internally, fighting the flame of anger burning in her chest at the thought that Talon all did this to Amélie.

"Alright, here's the plan: We start by picking out some pants and shirts for you. We then move to jackets and shoes and stuff like that. Then, we move to underwear; you'll have to start wearing some, no matter how much I don't like the thought."

"If you don't like me wearing underwear, I won't." Widow hummed, causing some very prominent red to spread over Lena's cheeks. Tracer was an eternal sucker for Widow always going commando underneath that skin-tight suit of hers. It was simply such a turn on _knowing._

"Hush! Don't tempt my resolve, luv. You need underwear. You also need some comfy stuff like sweatpants and such. And maybe a dress or two. So... basically a whole wardrobe... Any preferences? Colors?" Lena asked with a sigh, increasingly overwhelmed by the task. It all started out rather simple. Pick up some clothes for Amélie. She really hadn't thought about the fact that her girlfriend didn't own even a single piece of normal clothing apart from the one Air Force shirt Lena gave her and which was currently used as a pajama top. Mercy didn't like the idea of Amélie sleeping naked at the sickbay. But, no matter how you twist and turned it, a single old Air Force shirt clearly wasn't a wardrobe.

"Mercy said she isn't certain if she can reverse my skin color since my heart might have already taken too much damage from the changes. So, we might want to pick something which goes along well with purple. Other than that... I never picked out clothes." Amélie admitted. "I was hoping for your experience."

Tracer nodded, choosing to ignore the implications of what her girlfriend revealed in the beginning. She simply heard _pick something which goes along well with purple._ Fair enough. "Well I'm more one for taking clothes off than putting them on" Lena laughed "Though I do know what I like..." she stopped herself as some _very_ scandalous ideas for possible outfits flashed through her mind. "...Then again, I better not decide too much here, because you want to be able to go outside without being mistaken for a tart. I'd just smack someone." she looked around the store and spotted a young, apparently slightly bored saleswoman waiting for someone she could help out. "I'll get us some assistance."

It was exactly the right decision to get some help. Lena doubted they would have ever moved through everything so fast without someone who knew the store like the back of their hand. They had followed their original plan rather precisely so far.

The saleswoman was a nice person who had the decency to not ask any questions. Even though she had to notice that Amélie's skin was only white in her face and not her legs…Or anywhere else on her body. Tracer made sure to remind herself to give the woman a rather generous tip once they checked out. Just to make sure the girl knew her discretion _was_ noticed and much appreciated.

It had quickly turned out that Widowmaker apparently liked black and purple a lot…which wasn't really a huge surprise. She also seemed to like dark grey and red. All together, not really the most uncommon colors, so it wasn't difficult to pick the more basic stuff. The saleswoman suggested a few items. Widow tried them on one after another, always careful to not step out of the changing cabin and only letting Tracer peek through the curtain. Once she tried everything, Widow asked Lena which she liked the best, and usually that was what they decided on in the end. In the beginning, Tracer tried to encourage Widow to pick what _she_ liked the most, but Amélie just shrugged and told her that she had no real emotion concerning any article, thus giving Lena the choice. There was no point in arguing with Amélie about this, so Lena didn't even bother trying. She knew her girlfriend good enough by now to know this.

By now they had covered pants, shirts, jackets, shoes, comfortable stuff, and underwear. Currently, they were browsing for one or two slightly fancier items. Namely a dress.

"Lena?" Amélie's voice asked from behind the curtain, and Tracer got up from the chair she had been sitting on waiting for Widow to put on the dress the saleswoman had picked out. It was a simple white, backless dress, long enough to be elegant, but also short enough to not lack a certain lingering passion, a mysterious sexiness, and the feeling of something forbidden.

Lena stuck her head through the curtain. To her credit, she managed to prevent her jaw from crashing to the ground too hard, bringing it to a stop just a few centimeters before impact.

"How do you like it?" Amélie asked, and actually had a _shy_ blush on her cheeks. Lena wanted to tell her how absolutely stunning her girlfriend looked. How perfect and beautiful she was. But she couldn't find any words which wouldn't have sounded totally cheesy.

So, Lena grabbed the empty coathanger from the side of the changing booth. "The only thing I'd prefer would be if you wore this." she smirked goofily. Widow apparently didn't get what Lena was talking about immediately.

Then she realized what Tracer meant. The coathanger was _empty._ She'd prefer her naked.

" _Bien sûr_ , you would like that." Amélie rolled her eyes, pushing Lena out of her booth. "Ask if they have it in black. I'm not sure if white is my color"

"Sure thing, luv" Tracer giggled, turning to the saleswoman waiting patiently. "Sorry that we're so much trouble"

"Not at all; that's what I'm here for, Ma'am" the saleswoman said honestly.

Lena resisted the urge to tell her not to call her " _Ma'am";_ it wouldn't have made any difference. The saleswoman was just being polite.

"I was wondering if you maybe have the same dress we are trying just now only in black?"

"Of course. I'll bring it to you."

"Thank you!"

The black dress was, to Lena's surprise, even more amazing than the white one. She insisted it would have to be bought, and Amélie just agreed with a curt nod. It wasn't like she didn't like the way Lena had already undressed her with her eyes. So, if her girlfriend liked it so much, she would wear it.

The saleswoman took the huge pile of clothes they had decided on to the checkout while Amélie was slipping back into the clothes she borrowed from Angela. For the first time since they had entered the store, Widowmaker left the changing booth again, still surprised just how large the place really was.

"Happy?" Lena asked.

"Of course, _chérie_ " Amélie replied, following her girlfriend. When she was still inside the changing booth, she hadn't really noticed too much, simply because she couldn't see anything. But now that she was out and had done what they came here for, Amélie had the time to look around a little bit. Was this how a _normal_ life looked? It didn't feel familiar. Something was missing. Widow didn't take long to notice that she was missing the danger and thrill of the hunt. The intoxicating high of squeezing the trigger and seeing her target - her prey - cease to existence. That used to be her normality up until recently.

Yet, it wasn't normal.

And that became shockingly apparent now that Widow had stepped out of the bubble she was forced to spend large portions of her life in. It was everything she remembered. This outlet here felt foreign. Like a strange concept.

There was a family, a husband with his wife and two children, a boy and a girl, both no older than maybe twelve, who were apparently trying to find something for the girl. The boy seemed bored out of his mind, and he soon ran off, searching for something fun to do.

He bumped straight into Amélie, who was trying to comprehend the shocking _normality_ of what she was seeing. Never in the life she remembered had she been at a place where she just could walk in and be seen. Where people weren't expecting some kind of danger. Where there was no security and where she didn't have to sneak in and out. She was almost missing that sense of danger, thinking that any moment she would regret letting her guard down. A part of her thought she might have just missed the obvious trap she was walking in.

For an instant, that sense was more than only tingling when she bumped into something smaller than her.

Every muscle in her athletic, perfectly toned body tensed up, preparing to strike, as Amélie looked down to check what had attacked her. She found the small boy with unruly hair and a patch across his nose looking up to her, and immediately felt stupid.

"Why do you have golden eyes?" the boy asked with the innocent curiosity of a child.

Amélie's eyebrow twitched. "My natural eyes were cut out and replaced by biomechanical implants. The organic parts of the iris were grown on a base structure made of gold, hence the color." she stated dryly, yet a little bit surprised herself that she actually knew that. She remembered seeing a blueprint of her eyes sometime… they were _really_ sophisticated. The boy's jaw dropped.

Lena nudged her in the side "Amélie!" she admonished, turning to the kid "You see her eyes are golden because she has super good eyesight. She can see things miles away, like, reeeally well. It's a really badass color, don't you think, lil one?"

"Yeah!" he cheered before quickly becoming serious again "So... her eyes weren't cut out?" he asked carefully, almost as if he was afraid of the answer.

"Well..." Lena hesitated, but luckily was saved by the boy's mother who came rushing toward them.

"Thomas! Don't run off like that" she said, taking him by his hand "I'm sorry," she apologized "I hope he didn't bother you too much."

"Mommy, the lady has golden eyes" Thomas said, but was ignored expertly, the mother obviously very much used to the way her son was.

"It's alright, Ma'am" Tracer smiled happily. "Your son is very curious. That's good."

"Too curious for his own good sometimes. Sorry again." The mother apologized anew, taking her son back to the father and their daughter. "God, Thomas, you can't just ask people why their eyes are an abnormal color. That's incredibly rude! It's none of your business!" the mother said to her son while they were walking away.

Amélie heard it, of course. And one word in particular stung her slowed heart like a icicle. _Abnormal._ It was true, wasn't it? She wasn't normal. Far from it. Most of her being had been _created_ in some filthy laboratory by people who didn't give a rat's ass about her. Usually knowing that didn't really bother Amélie too much, but right now it became painfully _obvious._

-/-

It had taken Amélie and Lena a little over four hours to complete their shopping in total before they were back on the street with bags full of clothes again. Without the super helpful saleswoman Lena had asked to help, they would have never been able to make it in that time. Lena did remember to give her the handsome tip she wanted to for not addressing the slightly odd things the saleswoman surely noticed about her customers. Odd not in a lesbian way, which was probably obvious from the first moment, but she didn't say a word. And to keep it like that -her lips sealed that is - Lena increased the small fortune she spent on Amélie to the next bigger small fortune.

It was a successful day so far. Now her girlfriend had some very nice outfits, ranging from simple to sophisticated. A whole wardrobe for every occasion. Even some sexy stuff which they had decided on.

Tracer had a lot of fun picking out clothes for Amélie, who really appreciated her girlfriend's efforts and was genuinely happy for her. Yet, something was bothering Widow, Tracer could tell. She didn't know what it was, however. Maybe she was just exhausted from spending the whole day out in an environment she wasn't used to in the slightest. Maybe some quiet place where they could relax for a bit would be a good idea. A place where they could talk, perhaps.

"What do you say, Blueberry, let's have a nice cup of coffee after all that shopping?" Tracer suggested, looking at Amélie, who was again holding the umbrella while Lena was carrying all the bags filled with the clothes they got.

"Sounds good" she nodded, and Tracer immediately turned them around and toward a small, plain café at a corner of the street.

They quickly slipped inside, paying attention to not getting wet.

Inside, they were greeted by an old, but very comfortable café. A few customers were sitting at their tables, chatting happily with each other, but the place wasn't terribly crowded either. Lena looked around in the store and quickly spotted an empty table in the backside of the café. That place would do just fine for them. She took the umbrella from Amélie and placed it in a corner next to the entrance before she grasped her lover's hand and led her to the table she had decided on. The bags they carried were placed on the unoccupied bench running along the entire wall of the café.

"This seems like a nice place" Amélie said, looking around like she was evaluating the possibility of something bad happening here. This wasn't the first time Lena caught her girlfriend looking around with that expression on her face. This wasn't like the clothes store. Where the latter had been busy and filled with people, this place here was more quiet and calm. It was a place to relax and unwind.

"I'm glad you like it" Lena beamed, causing Widow to stop looking around and simply stare at Lena. She was always so cheerful and so happy. Sunshine was really the best comparison for her. Tracer was like the sun. Warm, shining bright, and always bringing light and happiness. She had been like this the entire day, and it was amazing to see how well Lena got along with everyone. The Brit had no difficulties communicating with anyone. She was always open and funny, and Amélie had no idea how Lena did it.

Widow's social skills were... lacking at best and nonexistent at worst. Most of the time, when she talked to someone other than Lena or Angela, Widow snapped. Amélie got the feeling that she was holding Tracer back with the way she didn't know a lot outside of killing people. She began to wonder how Lena could possibly ever be really happy with someone like _her_ at the Brit's side. The French assassin had been pondering that question for a long time today, actually.

It was eating her away. She couldn't help it. There was just _so much_ Lena seemed to enjoy which Amélie didn't get or couldn't do. A whole world she never saw before. Not to speak of all the friends Lena had which all obviously hated Amélie for some reason or another. Widow didn't care if they hated her. She couldn't have cared less about their opinion. But what if their opinion of Tracer would change? Was that the reason they kept their relationship a secret?

It had been bugging her the entire time today. She wondered when Lena had become _this_ important to her, but it felt like she couldn't go on for even a second without her. Tracer was more important than breathing for some reason, as stupid as it may sound.

Her girlfriend, of course, noticed that something was bothering her love, which was part of the reason they were even sitting in this café. Lena was highly attentive when it came to the mood and feelings of her partner.

"So" Lena started "How are you doing? I mean, really? Are you alright? The fucking wanker from this morning was the only one who talked shit, wasn't he? You'll tell me if someone is giving you a hard time, won't you? I can-"

"Chérie..." Widow reached across the table and took Lena's hands into her own, letting her thumbs run over the back of the Brit's warm, smooth hands. She needed to feel her hands. The faint throbbing of Lena's pulse underneath that soft skin of hers usually well protected underneath some high-quality gloves. Amélie wanted to make sure that she was still really here.

"Huh?" Lena looked up from her rambling.

"I don't care what anyone says. I'm here because of you. And only you. Because I want to be with you and I couldn't care less what someone else has to say about it, or about me, or about anything else, really. They don't matter. You do." Widow said with no smile and no cheesy smirk. Nothing. She was _dead_ serious about this. She really was.

"...Luv" Tracer was speechless and wanted to say so much more, but couldn't. Lena wasn't able to sort through the sheer amount of thoughts that popped into her mind fast enough before a cheerful person appeared right next to them on their table, wearing a mint green apron over the light grey work-uniform. Questionable choice of colors, but somehow it worked out.

"Welcome, you two" the woman smiled, obviously noticing the two girls holding hands in an unambiguously romantic way. Neither Amélie nor Lena could bring themselves to care. The waitress wasn't from Overwatch, so it didn't matter if she knew something or not. "What can I get you?"

Lena smiled and nodded toward Amélie, indicating that she should start with her order.

"A cup of coffee. Black and no sugar, _s'il vous plaît_ " Widow said, glancing at the waitress for a moment. The girl - she could have hardly been older than 20 - had mesmerizingly smooth, perfectly black hair all the way down to her hips with a rather fascinating wave throughout it and green eyes which were shining brightly. On her apron there was a small nametag reading 'Sheena Gogh', and she was holding a small notepad and a pen. Just in the moment Widowmaker looked at the waitress, she actually quickly bit her lower lip, hearing the French accent in Amélie's silken voice.

It all didn't go by unnoticed by Lena, who had to suppress a smile. Widow's voice would get that kind of reaction a lot in the future, she was sure of it. How Amélie tended to purr things with her absolutely incredible French accent, the words slipping off her tongue like liquid silk in such an easy manner, and how she effortlessly incorporated pieces of her mother tongue which everyone understood; all that was basically sex for the ears, after all. The Brit wasn't shy to admit that her girlfriend's voice alone was perfectly capable of turning her on. Like... really turn her on.

"A-And for you?" Shena wanted to know, quickly scribbling something down on her notepad.

"Mhh, I think I'll just have a cup of tea with a slice of lemon, please?" Lena said happily, not sure if they even served tea in this place. It would have been a shame if they didn't. One of the few occasions where Tracer actually felt the need to drink tea, what a pity it would be if they didn't have any now. It was a bit of blasphemy that Lena, as a through and through British girl wasn't too keen on tea, but it couldn't be helped.

"Black tea?" Sheena inquired, causing Lena to sigh in relief. The question must have meant they had some. Of course, black tea, because anything else was definitely nothing for her. Genji once shared a cup of traditional Japanese green tea with her and Lena promised herself she'd never touch it again.

"Certainly." Lena nodded. "Oh, and do you have cake?"

"Of course! Cheesecake and apple pie. Homemade ones as well."

"I'll take the apple pie, please." Lena decided instantly. God, she loved apple pie. "You too, luv?"

"No, thanks. I'm good, _merci._ " Amélie said with a brief smile. She was feeling stuffed enough as it was. Her metabolism didn't need much nourishment, after all, and the meals she was provided at the Watchpoint were... generous.

"Alright, a cup of coffee, no milk, no sugar, a cup of black tea with a slice of lemon, and a piece of apple pie. Coming right up." The waitress smiled and was gone as fast as she appeared.

Lena returned her attention to her company, smiling shyly. There were a few minutes of only half-comfortable silence in which Tracer tried to figure out what she wanted to say. Was this why Amélie had been acting more and more strange during the day? Lena had assumed that maybe the little disturbance during breakfast was getting to Amélie more than she admitted, but maybe that wasn't it. Lena wouldn't lie, she had a great time taking Widow shopping, buying clothes for her and picking all the various outfits. Usually, Tracer didn't spend money on anything, apart from her single hobby of rebuilding an old car she owned, but other than that, she didn't need a lot of money. Playing guitar wasn't expensive, and her occasional need for some Scotch was covered by Overwatch's bar. No, spending it on someone else was nice, and Lena liked doing it. Especially when she got to pick outfits - most of which, yet surely not all, was part of an everyday wardrobe - for someone as gorgeous as Amélie was. She had a lot of fun. And Lena was getting really communicative when she was enjoying herself. Had she been talking too much with the saleswoman? Had she maybe been too flirty with her? Was Amélie worried that she might leave? Was that it?

"You know" Lena said finally "When you say things like what you did before, I sometimes think I really don't deserve you at all. But oh, boy am I happy that you're here anyway. You have no idea how much you mean to me" Lena said honestly, not caring that today was apparently a cheesy day. Like, seriously, something like this was necessary from time to time! It was important in a good relationship to give the feelings one felt a chance to be voiced just the way they were felt. What could have been wrong about telling someone Lena loved how she felt about her?

Widow frowned, shaking her head and averting her eyes from Lena. She felt terrible. The whole day was one big showcase of how a normal life should look like. What living really meant. Yet, it was also a bonfire of what Amélie knew she would never be able to give Lena. That normality which made Tracer blossom so beautifully; her cheerful laughter ringing louder and her gleeful smile shining brighter. When they were picking outfits together, Lena had been happy. _Truly_ happy. Widow could easily tell and it also made her happy. But part of her knew that a life with her would never really look like that often. She couldn't help but feel that this wasn't the life Lena could possibly want or need. Widowmaker knew she would most likely always be haunted by her past. The chances of her ever having a normal life, like everyone else was close to zero. And she felt a chilly sense of anxiety creep up her spine at the thought that she might only be holding Lena back from something. That she might be the cause of her little sunshine not shining as bright as she could be. Amélie didn't want that. She wanted Lena to be as happy as possible.

All that insecurity and anxiety suddenly surfaced. They had never _really_ talked about their feelings. Hell, neither of them really knew just _why_ they were even so madly in love with each other. Or when it happened. Or because of what. All they knew was that they were. For some reason, apparently. Or can two humans fall in love without a reason at all?

What bullshit. It was total crap. Amélie didn't even grasp the concept fully. Was she even in love? Most of the time it felt more like an addiction. But in the best possible way. It made her stronger, think clearer, and hear sharper. Her heart beat faster, and she felt... alive around Tracer.

Damn, that must have been love.

"If someone here doesn't deserve the other one, that would be me. I have not the first idea why you want to be with me. You don't have to stick around just because you feel responsible. I mean, I'm just... just... well, not normal." Amélie's voice was cold, calm, and rational, which made her statements even more cruel. She had given the entire matter a lot of thought recently. It was no spontaneous whim of hers. Widowmaker never acted on a whim. "I'm not like the family we saw in the clothing store. I'm not like the nice saleswoman you enjoyed talking to so much either, or the waitress in this place. I'm someone who doesn't remember most of her life, and the pieces I do remember are just horrible fragments. _Sacrebleu_ , I can't pick my own clothes. I didn't know what color I liked before I tried some today. I'm someone who could suddenly snap and murder you. _Merde,_ that almost happened twice now! I know Mercy said my recovery would take a lot of time and effort and will be really difficult, but she made it clear that there were no guarantees that I'll ever fully recover. You and I both know that won't happen. Angela didn't say it like that, of course, but I'm not completely dense. I'm... broken. Just look at me. You don't have to paint anyone else so they can go out and not stand out like a lighthouse. Or touch me. I'm as cold as a corpse. I might not know a lot about society or how it works, and I'm not good with people, but I'm not stupid. They ruined me. You can't tell me that all that doesn't bother you. Talon turned me into a science project, and every day I notice more and more that - "

"SHUT UP!" Tracer yelled suddenly, causing a lot of people to look up and turn their heads to check what was going on. Lena had jumped up from her place and let go of Amélie's hands. Her eyes were filled with tears, about to fall down as she tried to blink them away, but destined to fail. Amélie just stared like she didn't understand "What?!" Lena yelled. "What on earth are you talking about?!" she shouted with a trembling, faltering voice "Do I suddenly need a reason to love you? I simply do! That's just how it is! I love you, Amélie, not for _what_ you think you are, but for _who_ you actually are! You're such a wonderful woman for so many reasons! And nothing you say or do will ever change that. I don't give a damn what happened to you in the past, and I don't care if you aren't like everyone else. If I wanted someone boring, I would have looked for someone boring. I couldn't recall a single face of any other woman I met since the London belfry, because in my mind there is only space for you. You are you, Blueberry, and I love _you._ No one else! No cute cashier, or pretty waitress, or normal family; just you. I don't know when it happened, or why, or how, but I know for sure that I _do_. And I don't care about the circumstances, or if it's going to be difficult, or that you need time to heal. I just want you to know that no matter what will be, I'll forever stay at your side, and don't you dare think that what happened to you changes _anything_ about how I feel _._ I will not hold things against you which clearly weren't your fault, and neither should you! Dammit, Amélie, I love you, don't you get it? I love you so much it hurts not to be with you, and don't you ever second guess that!"

Tracer breathed heavily, staring at Amélie with burning eyes. She felt her legs trembling, and wasn't sure how much longer she had it in herself to stand. But this was bothering her so much, and it felt so wrong. Despite maybe sounding a bit egoistical, Lena knew she was probably a rather good catch. Someone a lot of people might have dreamed of being with. She knew that she was pretty decent at most things concerning a relationship. But not for a second had she thought that Amélie couldn't deserve her because of what happened to the French beauty. If there was even a little bit of fairness in the galaxy, Widowmaker deserved her even more for exactly that reason. For all the years of abuse and torture. For all the cruel experiments. Someone who had gone through that kind of hell deserved someone genuinely nice, and someone caring and someone full of love and affection. Someone like Lena Oxton.

How could Amélie think so little of herself now? She was such a great person. She was a strong woman, who had managed to survive the worst humanity had to offer. She had skills like no other human on this planet.

But none of these skills were her own, in a way. They were all forced upon her. And maybe that was part of the reason Amélie felt worthless. Like she was a used piece of flesh, not worthy of anything. A science project. A glorified lab rat.

The thought alone made Lena so upset she didn't even know what to do anymore. Nor did she notice that the entire café had become completely silent, all the guests hearing her outburst

"Hey lady!" a man sitting two tables away from them called out for Amélie "Not that it's my business or anything, but trust me, when a girl ever says something like _that,_ you don't ask any questions. You take her hand and count yourself lucky, because she definitely is a keeper. Just a friendly tip from someone happily married for longer than I like to admit."

The customers in the small café all laughed gleefully, apparently getting some kind of amusement out of the situation before they all seemed to return to their own affairs, leaving Amélie and Tracer alone again. Lena quickly slipped back on her chair, rubbing over her eyes. She was blushing pretty violently, for she had not intended to say these things so loudly.

"You never cease to amaze me, _chérie_ " Widow stated simply.

"Don't push me away, Amélie. I'm here for you. Let me help you."

"You have already helped me more than you'll ever know. I'd never push you away, I can promise you that. It's just..."

"I'm with you through all of this, ok? No matter what Talon did to you, it won't stand between us."

"You say that because you don't know everything of what they did. We talked about some things already, but there is so much more. Things I don't fully remember anymore and I'm sure even more things I was forced to completely forget altogether." Amélie said weakly, but Lena shook her head.

"I've seen enough to get an idea" Lena said. "Listen, I haven't told you this before, but... well, Winston had some old video footage which Genji stole from Talon ages ago. There are tapes from your transformation on there. I've seen it. Even before we got together. In fact, I saw it the day I picked you up in that alley. On the day you were shot, remember?"

"Yes, I remember." Amélie replied. "You knew all along? Why didn't you...?"

"I'm sorry I never told you. I wanted to know what happened to you, but couldn't ask you. So, I kind of looked it up. Ever since that day, I knew there was a chance. You know... a chance for you and me. For us. I... I'm sorry. I should have told you. But I was afraid you'd be upset because I dug around in your past and since you have been telling me more about the things you remember, I thought maybe there was no need to ever talk about the video files." Tracer slouched her shoulders, hoping this wouldn't develop into a fight. Because if they were to ever fight about anything, it would have most likely been this. Widowmaker's eyes were peering into Lena's in search of something. Like she was trying to get a feel for what was going on in Tracer's head right now.

"I should have told you what little I remember way sooner. But I was always afraid it would change you if you ever found out. I don't know why. You never gave me a reason to think differently, but I was just... I thought there were things which might be too much." Amélie replied silently, and not the least bit angry. They both stayed away from the topic because of the same reason. No hard feelings there.

Lena snorted "It didn't." she said, despite that not being the truth. It _did_ change her. She wanted to help Widowmaker even more, and she wanted to save her more than ever before.

"Now I'm even more certain that I don't deserve you" Amélie said with a teasing smirk, and Lena just chuckled silently, glad that Widow didn't take any offense that Tracer had seen video footage of what Talon did.

"Well, I'm sure you can do something about that tonight" Lena hummed.

Amélie's smirk turned into a slightly carnal grin, but she didn't say anything. A moment later, Sheena was back, placing two cups of steaming hot liquid on the table.

"Here you go" she said, sliding the coffee over to Amélie and the tea and apple pie toward Lena. "You know, it's probably not my place to say this, but I wish my boyfriend could say something like your girl did." she said to Amélie with a sad smile "I might be a bit jealous here, really. I wish you all the best, and I hope you find happiness together. You really seem to deserve it. Your drinks and the cake are on the house."

-/-

* * *

 

**Dahelm, Berlin, Germany, 1442 hours, Talon board of directors meeting location**

The conference room would have been a nice place. It did have everything which would have been required for hour-long meetings. Comfy chairs, snacks and drinks for all, enough space for everyone to spread out their legs, as well as a large holo-projector which everyone could easily access. The seats had all been positioned around a large table - the glass version of Arthur's round table - facing each other. The holo-projector was placed in the middle and still showed Talon's coat of arms as some kind of screensaver.

Long story short, the conference room was everything someone might have expected from a place the secret board of directors of a worldwide terror organization funded by the most powerful industrial conglomerates would look like.

Talon didn't spare any expenses when it came to its board of directors. Hardly surprising, knowing that the board consisted of the heads of a lot of those industrial conglomerates. Very large, very powerful multinational concerns and business groups, who all joined their efforts when it came to achieving some goals in a maybe _slightly_ illegal way or using not exactly clean methods of obtaining certain desired items.

Ever since they were approached by the illusive man behind Talon, they decided to dedicate a lot of resources to this organization and, in return, they got a private army operating in the shadows, following their every command. It made them billions upon billions of dollars. So much so that the substantial investments they paid Talon faded into nothingness in comparison.

The board of directors would have met in Berlin today to discuss some new business ventures.

They would have.

Alright, strictly speaking, they _did,_ but to be fair, the meeting didn't last long enough for this happening to be called a meeting.

The thirteen members had barely sat down and started with some meaningless small talk when the holo-projection in the middle of the round table started to flicker. It filled with dark grey smoke before the projector shut off and a man clad in a black robe stood in its stead.

"Good evening, gentlemen" his deep voice had grumbled. "I'm sure you all know who I am, so we can spare the introductions" he continued "I came to inform you about some important changes in the structure of this organization."

"What does this mean? Reaper, explain yourself! You aren't supposed to be here. We haven't commissioned any Dark Wing operations." A man with a heavy Indian accent complained loudly.

"That's the beauty of Dark Wing, isn't is, chairman Vishkar? I get to appear wherever I want." he had said. "And I'm sorry to inform you that I'm no longer part of Dark Wing. The big boss has other plans. Unfortunately, those plans don't involve any of you, I'm afraid."

Before anyone had realized what he meant, Reaper had turned the room into an modern art piece painted with red.

Now, barely more than indistinguishable red slobber was left from the thirteen chairmen and their assistants. They all had fell victim to Reaper's death blossoming, seconds of hellfire obliterating not only the conference room, but also the people inside.

It _would_ have been a beautiful room.

If Reaper hadn't shown up.

He stood in the middle of the now completely destroyed round glass table, the shards cracking under his heavy boots as he walked over what was left of the chairman he had talked to. Vishkar had been one of their top supporters. Such a shame. Funding apparently wasn't a problem anymore, or the big boss had found a more reliable source of money.

The door opened a little "Master?" Gerda's voice called out.

"Don't call me that" Reaper growled "You can come in. Job is done."

The door opened further, and the maid the big boss gave Reaper walked inside, carrying two canisters full of gasoline, tiptoeing around bits and pieces of human flesh and somehow managing to not step into any of it. Which was rather impressive considering the density in which the floor was smeared with blood. "But I was given to you. That makes you my master, for I am to serve you from now on."

"You're creeping me out" Reaper said with a deep sigh. He didn't even want to know what they did to _her_ to make her this way. When they put Widowmaker through the mill, she at least retained a bossy attitude and a dangerous aura. Gerda was just turned to... well, into a totally submissive maid. "Please develop a spine."

"Master?" Gerda asked, placing the canisters in front of a growling Reaper.

"Forget it." He sighed, at least as much as Reaper was able to sigh. Sometimes it sounded like he was gurgling with mouth wash. No one ever told him that, for the obvious reason of no one being suicidal enough to say it. "Now that this is taken care of, here is what I want you to do: I need the files of all currently ongoing missions and operations as well as all the closed and completed ones. And I really mean everything. All the secret Dark Wing reports, the official ones and the unofficial ones too. I need all the covert operations from all existing and dissolved task groups. I need everything we have from the former deep cover cells, as well as the former biotech division, before both got... dissolved. I want it all. All of Talon. If I have to run the show, I'll do it properly. I want to know which skeletons we have in the closet, where that closet is now, who got it there, and the key to it as well. Get me everything we have on my... and I can't believe I am actually saying this now... on my desk. Can you do that for me?"

"Certainly, Ma-"

"Eh!" Reaper raised a warning finger.

"...Agent Reyes."

"That's better, at least" he sighed, still not happy with the name she picked, but willing to take it for now.

"I will do my best to get the documents to you as fast as possible."

"Thank you, Gerda" Reaper said, nodding toward the maid. She smiled a brief but very honest smile before she left. Never before did someone say thank you to her.

Reaper was left behind, looking around the destroyed conference room. Well, time to set it to the torch. Better not leave any evidence of what happened here. He grabbed the first canister.

-/-

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Sooo, that was chapter... which chapter was this again?
> 
> "28, patate. Keep track of your own story, would you?"
> 
> Ahh, yes, thank you Amélie, chapter 28. To be honest I never thought this would get so much attention and that so many people would enjoy reading my work. It started out with just me messing around a little bit and now look where we are. And I say we, because I couldn't have done anything without you all. So thank you very much, everyone!
> 
> Some things concerning the previous chapters:
> 
> I didn't want to get into politics or anything when I mentioned Trump in chapter 27, neither did I want to upset anyone. I just thought it would create a nice connection to the real world, since Overwatch takes place in a not too distant future. So I thought it would be cool to see how people in the future might see the events of our time. 
> 
> Some people expressed concerns regarding Sombra. All I can say is that everything involving her will be explained at the right time and that there is a plan for her. Also, apparently the phrase I used on her was already used in a similar way in Bioshock. That was unintentional, I never played Bioshock past the scene with the crazy surgeon, who wanted to "improve" the beauty of women. At this point I decided that I do prefer my sleep to be without any nightmares and never touched Bioshock again. Yes, I was too scared of it. Call me a chicken, but good god I couldn't play this game for more than ten minutes before I had to pause and never in the dark :D 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you lot are all fine with the slice of life chapter here, I really wanted to do one where Widow and Tracer can have some peace together. I hope it wasn't boring. Don't worry, more action and intesifying plot will come soon, but I need time to set a few thins up properly. You all know me by now, I like doing things properly, even if it means they will take a bit longer. 
> 
> Alright, that was it from me today, I hope you all had fun reading! Consider giving me some feedback if you want! Favs/Follows are totally nice, but reviews really make my day :) Or you do both, which would be even more amazing :D   
> or:  
> Maybe you want to enable my coffee addiction and leave me a tip? You can do so here:  
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction
> 
> Special thanks, as you all know by now, goes to the three angels and special special thanks to one of them in particular, EhMattissimo, who is beta-reading this like the baus he is! 
> 
>  
> 
> I'll see you folk in the next one
> 
>  
> 
> o7
> 
> E82
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> -/-
> 
> Translations:
> 
> S'il vous plaît (French) = please
> 
> bien sûr (French) = of course.
> 
> Sacrebleu (French) = damn it
> 
> Merde (French) = Shit
> 
> patate (French) = dork


	29. Her scars or how she got them

**Watchpoint Gibraltar, infirmary, two days later.**

"You really don't need to be nervous, Amélie" Angela encouraged her patient with one of her infamous warm smiles. As a doctor, she was one of the most trusted persons at the Watchpoint, and that was largely because of how she treated her patients. They all felt comfortable around her. "We have discussed this already; there is nothing to be afraid of."

"Yeah, I know this" Amélie said "I know that you need to make sure my implants are working correctly. This just reminds me so much of Talon" she explained

"Oy, I doubt you had such charming company at Talon" Lena threw in. She had been with Amélie at all her appointments with Dr. Ziegler…at least the appointments where they discussed medical things.

"True" Amélie smiled. "Alright, I'm ready."

Angela nodded and walked around her desk, Amélie and Tracer in tow. She pulled a little stool closer and sat down on the side of the large glass tube, typing some commands into the console set up right next to it. The unit awoke to life with a faint hum, the interior of the glass tube being illuminated by bright blue-ish light.

Amélie looked at the tube which lifted itself upward, allowing access inside. She swallowed and reached up to the hem of the simple grey tank top she was wearing, pulling it over her head. The stripping part was the most uncomfortable memory she had from her weekly checkups at Talon. It was strange, for when she had been doing it, she didn't pay it much mind. She kind of shut her mind off and didn't think about it. But now? Now it was a lot different.

"Amélie?" Angela and Tracer asked at almost the same time.

" _Oui?_ " Widow perked up a confused eyebrow.

"Luv, not that I mind, really, but why are you... undressing?" Lena blinked, and Angela just nodded with a slightly puzzled expression.

"What do you mean? Angela wanted to perform a physical examination, _non_? I still know how these scanners work from my time at Talon."

Angela carefully cleared her throat. "Amélie, the whole point of these full body scanners is that the patient _doesn't_ have to get naked or anything."

Amélie held her halfway removed shirt in her arms, looking at it and her now exposed upper body. Tracer wasn't yet able to convince Widow to wear any underwear. She didn't like the feeling.

A wave of pictures rushed into her mind from all the times she had been checked. How everyone was staring at her while she was undressing. How the eyes of the doctors and scientists were always glued to her body, a lecherous smile on their lips.

It suddenly made sense.

"So, they..."

"I'm so sorry" Angela said, genuinely feeling bad for Widow in that moment while the French woman slipped her top back on. It wasn't the refined movement she usually displayed. It lacked the grace and elegance Amélie basically had in every way she moved, but instead was hastily and clumsy.

Amélie nodded and rushed toward the glass tube stepping inside. "But I do just stand here now, right? Or am I supposed to do something else?" she asked, a certain aggravation audible in her voice.

"Nono. Just stand there, that's quite alright" Angela said, pushing a button to close the glass tube around Widowmaker.

"You know, I kind of hate Talon more every time she tells me something about them" Lena said to Angela, stepping behind her and watching over her shoulder as the scanner created a three-dimensional image of Amélie, layer for layer; her skin, her organs, her bones, and everything which should _not_ have been inside her body.

Which was a _lot._

Angela gulped as she saw just how much Amélie's body really had been modified.

The image showed implants all along Widow's spinal cord, wires spreading into her body and connecting to more implants in different places. Her heart was covered with microscopic weaves, and her brain was filled with chips and regulators of various sizes and forms. One could clearly see that her beautiful eyes weren't fully organic, just as it was painfully obvious that her entire alimentary system was mostly controlled and enhanced by cybernetics. All of Widowmaker's bones had been coated with a honeycomb kind of structure. From her fingers to her ribs, each bone was enhanced in such a manner.

The computer was starting to figure out what each implant's apparent function was before more and more labels appeared on screen, describing the construction, material. and the job of each implant.

Angela pressed a hand over her mouth as more results kept appearing on screen.

Tracer was taking it a little bit better, since she had kind of been expecting something like this, but nevertheless, the full extent of Amélie's modifications was shocking.

"That is no problem." Angela said silently, inhaling sharply. "It's no problem" She shook her head "No problem."

"Luv?" Lena asked "What's no problem?"

"This" Angela gestured toward the screen. There were so many readings on the screen, it was all double Dutch to Tracer.

Mercy pressed the same button she used to close the scanner again and released Widow from her temporary glass prison.

"So, how fucked up am I?" she asked with a shrug.

Angela turned the screen a little so Amélie could see how her own body looked. "Oh." was everything Widow had to say.

"Amélie, I promise you this here and now…" Mercy started seriously, her hands trembling and her voice slightly shaky. Lena knew her best friend only got like this when something was _really_ bothering her. "This-" Angela gestured toward the various implants, enhancements, transplantations, and whatever other changes Talon deemed a good idea. "-is not a problem. It is Talon technology. I understand that. So, I will not make any promises concerning _removing_ it, simply because I don't yet know how these things affect your metabolism. But I can promise you this: I can replace it. I will not stop working until I come up with a way to get everything Talon created out of your body, one way or another. I might have to construct new implants, but I will sit down with you and I will explain each and every detail to you. Whatever happens, if I have to replace implants, the new ones are going to be _yours._ They won't be forced on you, nor will they do something you don't understand. I will tailor them to your needs and specifically for you, Amélie. You are going to be alright; I promise."

"Why are you so upset?" Amélie asked confused.

"Because they _forced_ you into this. Everything about it is wrong. It goes completely against my understanding of what a doctor should do and it makes me mad! That, and the fact that they didn't even have the decency to do a proper job!"

"What do you mean?" Lena asked carefully.

"The implants aren't built to last forever. The scanner has already estimated that the first ones will probably fail in maybe two years. So, unless they planned on renewing them, your life had an expiration date."

"I really don't have much choice if I want to live longer than two years, then?" Amélie asked, sitting down on one of the six sickbeds.

"I'm afraid so, yes." Mercy replied, and Widow stayed silent for a while. It was Lena who spoke up for her lover.

"She's very uncomfortable about being unconscious and someone cutting her open."

"I can understand that" Angela nodded. "But maybe that won't be necessary. It should be possible to re-program the nanoprobes I used to enter your body, demount the existing implants, and replace them with newly constructed ones made of networking nanoprobes. The old implants would be dissolved and removed through your bloodstream."

"That's possible?" Lena asked.

"Please, Lena" Angela tilted her head "Two days ago I woke Fareeha up from her coma with re-programmed nanoprobes. I created them so they could do almost everything. Don't insult my creation"

"So…I stay awake?" Amélie asked.

"Mostly, yes. Though I have to say, judging from the sheer number of chips implanted in your brain, you might pass out sometime during the procedure." Angela explained calmly. She already had some ideas of how this all would work. If her theory was correct, and Mercy's medical hypothesis usually were, she would be able to replace or remove all of Widowmaker's Talon imposed implants with newer, better, and more reliable versions made from her nanoprobes. Without any restrictions, without any inhibitors or anything which would hold Amélie back. Well, apart from her slowed down heart. There was no way around that. Speeding it up again would cause it to burst. Mercy had suspected as much during their first conversation, and had brought it to Amélie's attention. Sure, in theory there were artificial hearts or donor organs, but at the end of the day, your own heart was your own heart, slowed down or not.

Widow looked at Tracer for a long moment, deep in thought about what she had been told.

That was when a beeping sound followed by an artificial female voice interrupted the trio's musings. "I am sorry to interrupt, Dr. Ziegler." Athena said "But I have a message for Agent Oxton."

"Athena?" Tracer looked up for some reason, thinking it would be impolite to not 'look' at the AI. Somehow, Lena thought Athena would be above her. "How did you know I was here."

"I'm aware of the position and current activity of all of Overwatch's personnel within the Watchpoint's perimeter, Agent Oxton. My biometrical sensors are linked to every room inside the Watchpoint and cover large areas of the outside area. You should be aware of that fact by now." the artificial female voice explained calmly.

" _Shite_ " Tracer muttered under her breath, ignoring the teasing chuckle Amélie made.

"You don't need to trouble yourself. Your sexually intimate relationship with Widowmaker will not be disclosed to your superiors or anyone else for that matter. My privacy protection protocols prevent me from doing so. I am only allowed to disclose such information to Dr. Ziegler in case I suspect an impending danger to your health. But neither do I suspect such a thing, nor would I disclose new information to her."

"Alright, alright!" Lena hectically waved her arms in front of her beet-red face "I can't believe an AI watched us all the time...So much for not having exhibitionistic tendencies... How did I not think about that...?" Tracer uttered. "Ok, never mind. What was the message?"

"Commander Morrison wishes to speak to you. You have been assigned a mission for tomorrow morning. Please discuss the details with the commander, for he is waiting for you."

The same beeping sound which indicated Athena's interruption was heard again, signaling that the AI had retreated again.

"So..." Lena said awkwardly.

"You go talk to the commander, _chérie_ " Widow said supportively "I think I want to ask Angela more questions. We'll talk about this later?"

"You got it!" Tracer smiled, leaning over to her girlfriend and giving her a chaste peck on her lips. "Take good care of her, luv" she said to Angela, before leaving the infirmary, Widowmaker looking after her with a longing gaze.

The door fell close again and Tracer was gone, yet Amélie's eyes were still resting on the place Lena had last been seen. She stared for a few moments, not moving even a little bit, before she spoke up again

"Angela?" she turned toward the doctor.

" _Ja?_ " Mercy smiled softly, somehow having expected some kind of question would follow the silence soon. She had almost been hearing Widow's gears turn inside her head.

"Is it wrong for me to have a bad feeling at the thought of her going somewhere on a mission?" Amélie wanted to know. Was seeing someone you care about leave for a dangerous mission supposed to feel like this? Was this _normal?_

"You worry about her" Angela smiled. "That's what every caring partner does, I suppose."

"And should I tell her?"

Angela actually laughed at that. Not because the question had been funny, but more so because of how absolutely necessary it really was. Lena rarely had a working sense of self-preservation. Hell, her entire relationship with Widowmaker confirmed this. She had to be the only person Mercy was aware of who would be crazy enough to even _think_ about dating Widow at a time when she was still an active Talon assassin. And not just anyone. Their crown jewel; the deadliest hitman to ever walk the face of earth. Then again, Lena always had a taste for the more interesting girls. "Of course you should tell her. Lena likes to take risks, as I'm sure you're well aware. Remind her who she has to come back to."

Amélie nodded silently, the gears in her head turning further and further.

"But it's alright if I let her go in the end? I don't have to tie her to the bed or something to prevent her from leaving?" Amélie asked carefully, and Angela just smiled. Here she was, sitting in the infirmary with Widowmaker, the formerly declared public enemy number one turned unexpected savior, turned friend, turned lover of her best friend and she was now explaining social behavior to her. Something Widowmaker was forced to forget. But also something she apparently was willing to re-learn for Lena's sake.

That girl never ceased to amaze.

"No" Angela giggled "You don't have to tie her to the bed. At least not for that. That's what relationships are about. Live and let live. Lena has always been a free spirit. Let her roam and go on her adventures; she needs it. I'm sure she'll be more than happy to take you with her as soon as she can."

An honest smile spread across Amélie's face, true and powerful like only very few smiles really were. "I'd like that." she hummed.

-/-

* * *

**A few hours later:**

The sound of a guitar was washing through the hallway while Angela and Widowmaker walked down said corridor. The soft tune was played with so many emotions, Amélie had never really heard something similar before. Since the hallway being flooded by these wonderful guitar sounds was the one connecting the various dorm rooms with each other, some agents had their doors open to listen to the music or had stepped outside to talk about who might be playing music for them with such raw emotion and power.

The further Amélie and Mercy walked, the louder the guitar got, and soon enough it was clear that someone wasn't only playing guitar; but someone was also singing along beautifully.

And both Angela as well as Widow knew the voice too well.

The Swiss doctor sighed, not really wanting to disturb Lena during one of her few hobbies, but still having to do it. She had to go back and check on Fareeha. So, she knocked at Tracer's closed door.

The singing and the guitar stopped, and one could hear someone moving inside the dorm room before the door was opened.

"Yeah?" Lena asked, sticking her head through the halfway opened door before her eyes fell on the two women standing outside "Oy, what a surprise!" She beamed, opening her door completely. She wasn't wearing anything much apart from some comfy shorts, her chronal accelerator and, what a surprise, another old Air Force shirt.

"Alight, Lena, here is the deal: I seem to have _accidentally_ forgotten my _pen_ in the office and I really need it, because I am going to check on Fareeha now, which _might_ take me a _little_ while. So, while I do that, I was wondering if you'd keep an eye on Widowmaker for a bit? I'll be back to pick her up soon." Mercy checked her nonexistent watch on her wrist "Let's say tomorrow morning?"

"I-" Tracer beamed even brighter, but didn't get to say something else before Amélie was almost shoved forward into her arms.

"You two have fun" Angela said silently before she closed the door into Tracer's dorm and turned to leave.

Inside, Lena was just holding her girlfriend for a moment, enjoying her wonderful scent and the sensation of her cool body pressed against hers.

"I didn't know you played the guitar." Amélie stated, just to say something.

"Well, I don't get around to doing it a lot." Lena replied with a shrug. "My father taught me."

"Your adoptive father or..."

"Yes, my adoptive father. He has a passion for music. Music, whisky, and saving people." Lena laughed, looking around in her room a little embarrassed. She wasn't exactly known for being a tidy person.

"That's quite the combination" Amélie chuckled, taking in Lena's little space. The guitar she had been playing just before was lying on the bed, the sheets were messy, and the chair which should have been in front of her desk was transformed into a makeshift clothes-rack, various different shirts, pants, and even some underwear piling up on it.

"Sorry for the disarray. I never really get around to actually cleaning up this place" Tracer said, letting herself flop down on top of the bed, taking the guitar off from it and leaning it against the wall to make some space for Amélie. She patted the place next to her, silently telling her girlfriend to sit down with her.

"I think it has charm. It's very... you" Amélie smiled as she sat down next to Lena. The smaller girl shifted closer to Amélie, putting her legs in the French woman's lap and her head against her shoulder. The room was silent except for the distant ticking of a clock, but it bothered neither of the women. It was moments like this Widow craved so much. The rare occasions of solitude and peace which she got to share with Lena close to her, the warmth of the other girl seeping into her own cold bones and the tips of her unruly brown her slightly tingling her skin. It was reminding her why she was here, who she was with, and what great importance it all held to _her._ Not for someone else but for herself alone.

The first and only thing she ever did for herself. And she would do it right.

"Have I already told you that you always smell really good, luv?" Lena murmured, inhaling Amélie's unique, fresh scent deeply.

"I don't mind hearing it" Amélie replied, allowing her hands to run up Lena's thighs in her lap.

"Mhhh" Lena hummed happily, cuddling closer to Amélie. "Luv, mind sharing what you discussed with Angela after I was gone?" Lena asked after a bit of comfortable silence. It was really important to her to know what would happen to her lover.

She felt Amélie shaking her head. "The most important part you still heard, I guess. She said she'd remove all the implants I currently have and replace them with ones she'll build for me. At least, those she can't remove. She said that chances are good that most of the implants and augments I currently have could be removed." Amélie explained.

"But aren't they good for something? I mean, they _are_ doing something or otherwise they wouldn't be there, right?"

" _Oui_ , you are right. But they only regulate minor adjustments, and Angela is confident that she can give more control back to my body. Maybe not immediately, but over time. She said it wouldn't affect my health; only my capability to fight. I told her I'd have to think about this and ask for your opinion..." Amélie's voice tailed off, and Tracer felt the former assassin's body stiffen.

Lena took her head off Amélie's shoulder and reached over to gently turn her lover's face toward hers. "Look at me" she said in a soft whisper. "Luv, do you even _want_ to fight anymore?" she asked, still whispering, but her voice carrying a undeniable strength and a seriousness which weighed heavily in the little space between the two lovers.

"I..." her voice faltered, "I really don't know. It's in my blood now, I guess. The mere thought of killing someone again makes me excited... and that scares me. It isn't... normal, is it?"

Lena shook her head. "Listen, you don't _have_ to fight. No one expects you to."

" _Chérie_ , I wish it was that simple, really." She said. What she meant wasn't even the life she still owed to Reaper; the one hit she promised him in exchange for letting Mercy and her off the hook and escape to Diskon.

No, what she meant was that a side of her felt like she should stay away from the fight. That she enjoyed it way too much to do it. She was afraid that it might change something in her again. But then there also was the side of her which told her that she was throwing away her talent. That she could have an impact; an impact for a cause she actually supported.

Fight Talon. Tracer seemed to burn for that. The fiery spark she had in her eyes when she talked about missions where she fought the terror organization told Amélie everything she needed to know. Given that Widowmaker naturally wasn't a fan of Talon herself by now, supporting Lena in that endeavor seemed like a no brainer. It was probably the same part of her which also was worried for her lover. Amélie didn't like the thought of Tracer going off to missions all on her own and doing god knows what. Sure, she was a talented, skilled fighter, and experienced field operative and was accompanied by capable agents most of the time, but still. Amélie would feel a lot better if _she_ were the one to accompany her lover on said missions.

If only for the sake of dying together should worse come to worst.

"Then explain it to me" Lena said sadly "So I can understand."

"I... I can't. It's... It's confusing." She couldn't word her thoughts. They were too complex. The fact that she felt like fighting more because of Tracer felt really odd; like something she wasn't capable of saying without sounding absolutely mad or like she was dependent on Tracer. But Amélie knew that was exactly true. She was dependent on Tracer. More than she cared to admit. She _needed_ the Brit at her side to not feel uncomfortable. For someone who always stayed away from any attachments, who always deemed herself the lone wolf, she sure did grow attached to Tracer in no time. It was almost a bit scary. But it couldn't be helped.

"You'll be fine on your mission tomorrow, won't you?" Amélie suddenly asked "I don't want you to be hurt."

Lena giggled cutely "Aww, luv, I'll be alright; don't worry. It's just a simple pickup mission. Nothing to it, really." she smiled and cringed internally. It wasn't really the truth. While Morrison was, indeed, sending her on a pickup mission together with and Zenyatta, the simplicity of said mission wasn't really there. It was, in fact, anything else but simple. They were being sent to Stuttgart in Germany to find an old re-activated Bastion unit which roamed the forests surrounding the city. It was suspected that said Bastion unit had somehow rid itself from the programming of the Jormungand god-program. Morrison wanted to bring the Bastion unit in to study it more closely. Not really your average walk in the park kind of mission. How did you convince an Omnic frontline robot to come with you? They hoped Zenyatta would be able to help with that.

"I'm worried" Amélie stated.

"Don't be."

"But I am. I know the way you fight. You are reckless, and you don't care about your own safety. You take risks. You get sloppy sometimes. Don't you dare not coming back or even coming back injured."

"Yes, Ma'am." Lena laughed and gave Amélie a mock salute before she leaned in and kissed her girlfriend gently "I promise to be careful." she whispered against her lips before capturing them once again. Small, innocent pecks at first, but they soon grew more passionate, more intense, and before they knew it, their lips were crashing together, fighting for dominance as both women fell back onto the bed, their tongues dancing around each other.

Lena kissed a hot trail over Amélie's jaw line and down her neck, carefully nibbling at the sensitive pulse-point and contemplating for a moment to give her lover a _very_ obvious hickey on that place.

"Wait" Amélie moaned, pushing Tracer off with little effort.

"Something wrong?"

Widow just smirked "The last times I got all the fun. Your turn, _chérie._ "

"Well, I won't say no to that" Lena beamed, rolling away from Amélie "In that case, let me quickly grab something" she said, standing up and shuffling through her drawers. "where did I put that damn thing..." she muttered to herself.

Amélie perked an eyebrow up "Lena, if you dare to pull out some toy now, I _will_ kill you."

Tracer laughed cheerfully "No, no, nothing like that. I don't even have toys... well not here anyway. What I'm searching for is... there it is" she pulled a small wristband out of one of the drawers before quickly walking back to the bed and sitting down. Leaning over to her lover, she showed her what she had gotten. It looked like a watch at first glance, but upon closer inspection, it became apparent that it didn't show time. Instead, it had a small blue, glowing circle hovering above the place where the clock-face would have been. "I told you about this thing, didn't I?"

"The smaller version of your anchor, right?"

"Yep, that's it" Lena said, putting the device around her wrist. "So, now I can take that harness off." She said that while her hands moved to the buckles on her shoulders, but were intercepted by Amélie.

"Allow me" she said in a husky tone, before her long, slender fingers quickly worked on the belts, loosening them enough to slide them down Lena's shoulders. Amélie worked quickly but carefully, undoing each and every clasp and buckle there was, before Lena's chronal accelerator was almost falling off.

"You ok?" Amélie asked carefully.

"Sure, just take it off. It's alright." Lena said, and helped Amélie lift the rather heavy device above her head. Widow placed the vital machine carefully to the side of Lena's bed.

"Urgh, I feel so naked" Lena giggled, letting her hands run over her body. She didn't really take off her harness often, for reasons she didn't really know. She just grew so used to wearing it that it kind of felt odd to not wear the machine anymore.

"But you aren't" Widowmaker smirked, her golden eyes resting on Tracer. "not yet."

"What an accurate observation" Lena teased. "What can we do against that?"

"Stand up. Strip." Widow pointed at a place in front of the bed and Lena did as she was told, getting out of the bed and standing at the place her lover pointed her to.

"I like it when you get bossy." she admitted with a hot blush on her cheeks while she peeled her old Air Force shirt off her body before she pushed her shorts down and stepped out of them, leaving her in nothing but a comfortable bra and some grey knickers.

"Everything, _chérie_. Get naked." Amélie ordered.

"Yes, Ma'am" Tracer teased, unclasping her bra and slowly - very slowly - and definitely with the full intent of making Widow wait for it, removing the piece of clothing before she let it fall to the ground. She turned around and started to pull her knickers down over her perfectly shaped ass, just a little bit to tease Amélie even more. Lena pulled the fabric further and further, bending forward to give her lover a perfect view of her behind and most likely even more.

Her panties fell to the ground, and Tracer stepped out of them, turning back around. Widow was still sitting on her bed, leaning against the wall and beckoning her closer with her finger, a seductive smirk on her lips. Lena slowly walked closer to her breathtaking lover, who still hadn't bothered to take off even a single item of her clothing. Lena didn't really mind, because she knew that she was up for some good fun. Crawling across the last bit of the small bed she let out a surprised yelp when Amélie suddenly pulled her into her lap, wrapping her arms around her and pulling her in for a passionate kiss. Her lips wandered away from Lena's mouth and quickly downward, where they found one of the already hardened buds on Lena's perfectly sized breasts. Amélie sucked one of those buds into her mouth, carefully biting down on it.

Lena let out an excited moan, her hands reaching for Amélie.

"Hands behind your back, _chérie_." Widow told her firmly. A hot wave rushed through Lena as she found herself obeying without a second thought. Usually _she_ was the one giving these kinds of orders to others, but for some reason it felt _amazing_ to be told what to do my Amélie.

"Good girl" Widow hummed, going back to work on Lena's breasts. Her left arm was still wrapped tightly around Lena's hot waist, preventing her from escaping from Widow's lap, while her other hand slowly slid upward on Lena's thigh, her nails scratching the warm skin in an arousing manner. Her cool fingers turned inside Lena's thigh the further they glided upward and, soon enough, Amélie let the back of her hands brush over Tracer's most private area. She barely touched it, but her lover still moaned in excitement. She repeated this time after time again, each time carefully granting the beautiful Brit so willingly kneeling in her lap a little more of her touch. A bit stronger, a little more to the center. Soon enough, her fingers were sliding in between Tracer's folds, her excitement drenching Amélie's hand.

Tracer was moaning and breathing loudly, struggling to keep her body upright, and Widow took great pleasure in watching Lena squirm and writhe under her touch, the excitement the brown-haired beauty felt was too obvious, yet she still tried her best to keep her composure.

"Amé..." Tracer hummed, looking at the satisfied smirk on her lover's lips. "I'm... so-"

Someone suddenly hammered against the door. Widowmaker wasn't the least bit bothered by that. She kept her fingers where they were, teasingly playing with Tracer's soaking wet sex, her other arm keeping Tracer in place, whose head shot toward the door.

"Ignore it." Widow instructed, aggressively claiming Tracer's lips and kissing her passionately. She could barely contain a grin when she felt Lena's body tensing up more and more while she kept intensifying her caress of her lover's nether regions.

Lena's eyes rolled inside her head as she felt Amélie flick her fingers around just like she enjoyed it the most. Her whole body went rigid, and the knocking on her door soon completely forgotten as she let out a loud cry of sheer pleasure; one mostly caught by Widow's lips.

Lena collapsed forward and into Amélie's arms who held her close, letting Lena's head rest on her shoulder. She felt the Brit's hot breath against her neck and couldn't stop smiling. It was wonderful to watch Lena become undone like that.

For Lena, the world around her was nothing but Amélie's scent and the sound of her own heartbeat for what felt like an hour.

But, unfortunately, Tracer was made aware that the rapid sound of her heart beating really wasn't her heart at all.

Someone was still knocking on the door like a madman.

" _Unni_?" Hana's voice urged through the door and into the couple's ears. " _Unni?! Are you alright? Unni? I swear, if you don't open this door right now, I break the door down!_ " there was a pause where the tiny Hana apparently realized she would probably break her legs if she tried to kick a door. " _Ok, I will get Reinhardt to break the door down, but I will come in nevertheless. Unni?!_ "

Lena groaned in frustration, peeling herself out of Amélie's arms.

"Who is this annoyance?" the French woman asked.

"A friend with an innocent mind." Lena replied, stumbling out of bed and toward the door.

"Chérie you're still-"

The door opened.

A girl shrieked.

"-naked" Widow said to herself, leaning back in the bed further so whoever that girl was wouldn't catch a glimpse at her. Luckily, the bed was placed against the wall of the bathroom, very much like your typical hotel room was usually laid out too. At least that made it impossible to see the bed from the door.

"Unni, why aren't you w-wearing anything?! There _is_ underwear you know?!" Hana gasped, pressing her hands over her eyes.

"I have a visitor. What is it Hana? You're kind of disturbing something." Tracer said, not beating around the bush at all. She wanted to get back into bed _now._

"S-Sorry. I heard you scream and thought you w-were in trouble. I-I didn't know you- you... uuhhh." Hana was red as a tomato and probably hot as lava.

"Does it look like I'm in trouble, luv?" Lena asked, tilting her head and kind of amused about how had such an innocent mind still. It made teasing her all the more fun…despite being a little bit on the cruel side, maybe.

"N-No. You look like you just had..." uttered, but didn't dare to speak the last word. She was embarrassed and jealous all at the same time.

"Sex. Correct. And it was really good sex too, up until now. I'd like to get back to it, if you don't mind. I'll see you for the mission tomorrow, alright?" Lena said, and tried to at least sound positive about it.

"Sure thing! I'm so sorry! Uhm... Have fun?" Hana tried, absolutely not sure what one was supposed to say in such a situation. Get banging? That's a no.

"I sure as hell will" Lena laughed before she closed the door again.

She quickly made her way back to the bed. "What was that about?" Amélie asked.

"Not important" Lena waved it off "What's important is why aren't you naked yet?"

"Oh? Is that how we'll play now?"

"It is." Lena smirked. "How did you put it so nicely? Strip!"

Outside Hana was breathing heavily, trying to calm down again. She heard Lena talk to someone, but she didn't understand anything. God, Tracer was so _cool._ So casual about everything. She just opened the door stark naked without caring for it in the slightest. Hana would have never dared to do that. But dear god was Lena beautiful. Hana just wished she could be more like her. More confident. More outgoing. Not hide behind that slightly arrogant attitude she had.

But she couldn't.

Tracer was someone she'd always aspire to be like. She couldn't wait for the mission tomorrow, especially the flight to Germany. Hana would drill Lena with questions. She really needed her advice. Lena obviously had a lot of experience when it came to dating people and Hana could use some help. There was someone she was _really_ interested in, but she had no idea how to go about things.

Lena surely knew how to talk to a guy.

-/-

* * *

**Talon Headquarters for South East Asia, currently somewhere in the yellow sea.**

Had Reaper known that he'd one day sit behind a desk, he would have probably tied himself a noose and searched for the nearest tree. He had always hated desks. Even when he was the Commander of Blackwatch, he had someone do all the paperwork for him. He preferred being out in the field. It was where he lived and where he worked. His entire being was made for battle.

Desks weren't battle. They were boring.

But he reminded himself that he must never forget that he was fighting a battle here. A battle in the shadows, fought not with guns and tanks, but with the most powerful weapon ever.

Knowledge.

And he was rapidly gaining more and more of it. The luxurious office he was given as the now head of Talon was filled with files…a lot of them still in the form of paper, documents, and whatever was inside all those boxes Gerda had somehow managed to carry here to him by herself.

He didn't like the idea of Gerda following him around. He didn't like the idea of being given a slave. The whole idea felt wrong and disgusting. He also wondered if she was really here to observe him. And while he was definitely not too proud to admit that she had impressed him, he still considered her a threat. In the end, he knew there were only two people in the world he could trust. One was Jack Morrison, and the other one wasn't important right now. He hadn't seen her in a long time, just like they all had agreed when they started this mission... madness... whatever it was.

Yet, he had finally found the big jackpot.

Everything Talon had to offer. All he had to do now was search the little needle inside this huge stack of hay. He was sure it would be well hidden.

Gabriel had begun to pile files in three different stacks. The largest, so far, was the "useless" stack. Information related to everything he didn't need. The second largest was the "good leads" stack, which had some promising documents and dossiers neatly piled above each other, and the third one was "direct leads". It was empty so far.

Of course it was empty. Reaper didn't expect that someone would be stupid enough to write the name he was looking for plainly into the list of personnel.

Reaper groaned, rubbing his hands over what was left of his face. He liked taking off his mask when he was alone. It felt better, and it made breathing easier helping him to forget what happened.

That damn mission in Zürich sure blew up in his face. Literally. Despite being staged, it hadn't gone well.

A part of him just wished Ziegler would have left him to die instead of fucking him up like he was now.

His rational side knew she was only trying to save his life…like she always did. She gave it her all. And he was already dead at the time.

Mercy brought him back.

And he hated her for it. Simple as that.

"Mr. Reyes?" Gerda's voice called from the door. "May I come in?"

Reaper reached for his mask and put it back on.

"Come in, Gerda." he said loudly.

The door opened and the small frame of the maid walked inside. She quickly danced around all the stacks of documents inside the office and made her way to Reaper's desk.

"The big boss told me to congratulate you on a job well done. He is very proud of you and wishes you the best of luck. He said you can use Talon at your own choosing, but you will still be given certain goals he expects you to achieve."

"What is his deal? Why give up on all this? And you for that matter?"

"That I cannot tell" Gerda said, looking apologetically. "As for me, I'm no longer beneficial to my former master's situation."

"His loss" Reaper shrugged. "Is there anything else you needed?"

"The report from the sappers your... predecessor sent to Diskon is now finished. It seems during the investigation one of the escorting fighter jets was shot down by an unknown enemy. Minutes prior, the pilot reported the possible sighting of an Orca shuttle."

"Overwatch?"

"Possibly. The sappers weren't able to salvage anything usable from the wrecks of the freighter or the tanker. We don't know what happened."

"Mh." Reaper grumbled.

"I apologize, Sir, it will never happen again."

"Not your fault, Gerda. Sometimes you win. Sometimes you lose. It doesn't matter. Leave the report on my desk somewhere and take the rest of the day off."

"Day... off?" The maid's eyes were wide with shock. She wasn't being punished for this?! That never happened before. Usually her master would always beat her up if things went wrong.

"Sure. I think I can go and get my coffee on my own. At least, I always could before last week."

"I never had a day off" Gerda stated dumbstruck.

"Then it's about time." Reaper stood up, walking around his desk and toward a pile of documents where he remembered he last saw something useful before. "Now get out here, please."

"Of course, Mr. Reyes. Thank you."

**-/-**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Soo, another one down! I know I probably shouldn't publish all of my saved up chapters so fast, because I will run out of them (aka I just ran out of them) and then there is going to be a longer pause before I can publish again. But I did it anyway.
> 
> "Yes, because you have no patience..."
> 
> -I have no... Amélie don't say things like that all the time!
> 
> "But it's true. You have none"
> 
> -I'm dealing with you, I have enough patience.
> 
> "Rude!"
> 
> -Call me rude again and I won't drive you to Lena tonight...
> 
> "Pardon! You aren't rude... "
> 
> -You know what they say about the hand which feeds you, right?
> 
> "Don't bite it? I'd never bite you."
> 
> -Yeah... I know you wouldn't. Now get ready, I doubt Lena wants to see you wrapped in a towel... scratch that. Get dressed anyway.
> 
> Excuse me guys. She is a handful. Where were we? Ah yes, the next update. I guess the next chapter will take me a bit longer. I still have to finish some term papers and unfortunately they do take priority. This story will of course continue, no worries about that, but I cannot promise you an update within the next week. Sorry, but you know, real life is more important, as much as I don't want it to be.
> 
> Tracer has been playing the guitar in this chapter, simply because I think she'd be the kind of girl who'd play it. Imagine her sitting at a bonfire and playing, just to make all the other girls swoon for her. Should you wonder what she has been playing, well there are three options really.
> 
> Originally I thought she's playing "Follow Me" from Uncle Kracker. Then I heard "Savior" From Rise Against and thought that would also be pretty cool. And then, finally, I thought she could also play one of my long time favorite songs, "Kryptonite" from 3 Doors Down.
> 
> In the end Tracer played whatever you thought she'd play and sing in this situation. These were just my thoughts ^^
> 
> Anyway, that's it from me today!
> 
> I wanted to thank everyone for your continued support! Keep it up, to me you're all rockstars.
> 
> Special thanks, as we all know by now, goes to my three angels.
> 
> "You coming now, or what?"
> 
> -Yeah, yeah, I just need the keys!
> 
> Alright, I'll be going now. See you all in the next one
> 
> o7
> 
> E82
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Uhhhmmm? Apparently none? neat! :D
> 
>  
> 
> If you want to support the story, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction


	30. Secluded thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to support the story, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction

_"Sombra? Sombra could have easily become my biggest problem. She could have destroyed me and my organization with the press of a button. Her skills as a hacker are second to none, and I freely admit that. She caught us with our pants down and took full advantage. She knows everything there is to know; my deepest secrets, who I used to be, who I became, and what I want to do._

_She is a first-strike weapon the likes of which I have never seen before. I hear she always had a certain talent and passion for computers. So much was obvious, really. In her pursuit to become the greatest hacker the world has ever seen, she did take some... risks. Risks not a lot of people would have taken. What Los Muertos did with her should have killed her. It didn't. But such is Sombra: high risk, high reward. It has always been her style. What prompted her to implant a device for directly interfacing her brain with a computer in the first place? I do not know. I can only guess it was to allow her faster direct system access._

_Ironic how the same cybernetic augmentations and implants which enabled her to reach her goal and, ultimately, even reach_ us _were not only her greatest strength, but her biggest weakness._

 _Sombra is, or better was, arrogant. She made herself into an attack weapon. She never thought she would have to_ defend _herself one day. That one day she wouldn't be at least one step ahead. But I was. She didn't get far with the data she stole from me._

 _Reprogramming her was really easy, from what I hear, from the scientists. She had all the necessary interfaces already implanted. They made it so that she still thinks she has a free will. But a simple voice command will override everything she wants and implant an order deep inside her brain. It's beautiful, really, how she thinks it is what_ she _desires when, in reality, it is what_ I _ordered her to do. She_ wants _to obey. All thanks to what she did to her own brain. In a way, she is more machine than the Omnics we created. I wish we had this kind of tech back in the day when we improved Widowmaker. Oh well, maybe we will still get around to implanting her with a neural controller._

_But that's not what you wanted to talk about when you inquired about Sombra, is it, Lieutenant? Didn't think so. Well, since you are responsible for my safety, I guess it's in my own interest to keep you focused. I'll send Sombra to your private chambers tonight. And don't worry, she will be very willing to please."_

_-Thiery Savant in private conversation with the chief of his personal security squad, two years ago._

_-/-_

**Somewhere in the forests around  Stuttgart, Germany, late afternoon.**

There was something about forest air which most people enjoyed. So did Tracer when she sucked a breath of the pleasantly cool air deeply into her lungs. It had a very distinctive, totally unique smell to it, like nothing else ever could have. The loose ground allowed a multitude of flowers and other plants to grow freely, each one emitting their own scents into the balmy winds softly brushing through the forest. The best thing was that each forest seemed to have its very own distinctive smell to it. Together with the multitude of different noises, the rushing of a nearby beck, birds singing, the gentle wind quietly rustling through the tree's canopy of leaves, or woodpeckers creating their homes, this mixed forest was definitely one of the most beautiful and placid places the planet had to offer. The sun over Germany was shining through the dense foliage of the ancient trees, shimmering to the ground like rays of golden stars. Tracer had always liked the woods, back when she was still in the Air Force she would go running in the forest next to the base a lot. Especially during the summer when the cooler temperatures were a welcome inclusion to her route and she was usually left unbothered.

"It is easy to see why the Bastion we are searching for sought out this place. I would have done the same given its beauty. How wonderful." Zenyatta said, sounding almost admiring. He was levitating completely silently through the forest next to DVa's mech. The whirring and cracking of her machine was the only artificial sound in a radius of probably a few hundred miles.

"You think it chose this place because it's beautiful here?" DVa asked skeptically. She wasn't so sure. Did a machine even have an understanding of the mere concept of beauty? And if so, were the same things beautiful to a machine as they were for a human?

"Well, I certainly understand Zen here. If I had to hide and could choose this place, I'd be daft to not go here. Give me a small hut at the edge of that clearing we passed a few minutes ago and I can live in peace here forever." Tracer hummed, not giving voice to the fantasy of who she would like to spend her life at this place with. She was sitting cross-legged on top of DVa's mech, letting the machine carry her through the forest. Lena had justified this by telling everyone that the higher up she was, the better she could oversee an area, effectively making her better at searching. While that was certainly true, the real reason was that Tracer simply didn't want to walk anymore. Zenyatta was levitating with no problem, and DVa was comfortable in her mech. Why should she be the only one who had to walk?

"Song Hana, should your question aim toward whether we can understand beauty just because we are artificial beings or not, the answer is yes. Beauty is a concept not lost on most conscious Omnics." Zenyatta said.

"I..." DVa stuttered "Sorry, I didn't want to be rude or anything."

"Not to worry" Zenyatta replied calmly. "I do not know if our Bastion is capable of understanding the same concepts that I do. But if it gained self-awareness, then by all means, I don't see why it wouldn't."

"Am I the only one who always thinks of Bastions as a _he_?" Hana asked, expertly maneuvering her pink mech around an old fallen tree, covered with moss and tiny fungi. The dead stem was probably older than any one of them and, despite blocking their way, DVa didn't want to set the metallic foot of her mech down on the remnant of a long forgotten time. "I mean, they are just so big and bulky and overall just not very... feminine, you know?"

"So, what would a female Omnic be like, then?" Tracer asked, slightly bemused that they were really talking about this.

"Well, I don't know." Hana shrugged in her mech, causing the machine to make a funny movement with its arms, too. "Athena, maybe?"

"She doesn't have a body, though. Apart from her server-rack." Tracer argued, resisting the urge to make a rack-related joke, partly because she couldn't come up with a good one anyway. "But she has a damn sexy voice." It was true, the Watchpoint's artificial intelligence _did_ have a really fine voice…right after Widowmaker's criminally erotic French accent. Which, by all means, should have been illegal since it was enough to make smart girls very, very stupid.

"You find Athena's voice to be sexually stimulating, Agent Oxton?" Zenyatta asked with evident curiosity in his voice.

"Well, sexually _stimulating_ might be a bit farfetched" Tracer lied smoothly, knowing full well that she once admitted to Winston that, given the opportunity, she'd pin Athena's voice against the wall and run her tongue down her jaw line. "But I like hearing her voice. It's so silky and flawless. That ain't weird, is it?" Lena frowned slightly. Now that she thought about it, she might really have a thing for someone's voice. Amélie talking in that incredibly sexy French accent of hers got her hot and bothered more often than not, too. Especially when she was whispering things into Lena's hear from behind, nibbling on her earlobe or the piercings while doing so. Lena could swear her lover did that on purpose during the most inappropriate times. Lena swallowed heavily, almost feeling Amélie's cool lips on her ear and her hands sliding up her body. She shivered and shook her head to get her mind out of the gutter. This was neither the time nor the place for thoughts like that.

"I have to honestly admit that human sexuality is still a foreign concept to me. That said, I cannot think of a realistic reason why the appreciation of someone's voice should strike me as odd."

DVa wanted to ask a thousand questions at this point. She already bombarded Tracer with questions on the shuttle en route to Stuttgart, but Lena expertly evaded most of the answers Hana needed so desperately for reasons the former pro-gamer didn't really understand. Tracer was obviously very experienced (DVa was not thinking of her as easy; she would never dare to do so!), so what was so bad about wanting to know how to ask a guy out? One Hana liked as well. But Tracer dodged every question with such an air of confidence, re-directing each inquiry to a different topic altogether. So, DVa couldn't work up the courage to ask the really important ones she had been burning to have answered. Just…why was Lena so damn confident  in anything she was doing? And she was _genuinely_ this way, absolutely certain in her thoughts and opinions. Hell, Hana was sure that if she looked up 'self-confidence' in the dictionary, there would be a picture of Lena Oxton next to it. And not in an arrogant way either; not at all. Before they left for Stuttgart, during their preparation in one of the hangars at the Watchpoint, DVa saw Tracer in a playful banter with Lucio. She was cracking a joke and he was laughing before Lena left. Hana wanted to be like her idol so badly it almost hurt. All she managed to do was _seem_ confident when she really wasn't. Hana was hiding all her insecurities, and there were a lot of them, behind a mask of arrogance, pushing people away. People always demanded her to be strong. Her parents wouldn't allow any weakness. She had to be the best in school. Her trainer wouldn't allow weakness either. He set up one of the toughest training schedules for Starcraft ever and Hana had to follow suit. The military wasn't any different either; there, the doctrine dictated duty first and everything else later. And since she was the Republic of Korea Army's poster girl, _later_ usually meant _never._

Lena Oxton made everything look so easy.

For Hana, it was anything but.

She sighed to herself. Probably better for her to stay focused on the mission.

"Are we still on course?" DVa asked despite all the thoughts running through her mind. She heard Lena shuffle on top of her mech, pulling out a little device Torbjörn gave them when they left for Stuttgart.

"Sure are, luv. We should be at the little river soon. The EM-Signature is still coming from there. It hasn't moved yet." Tracer replied in high spirits. "Any ideas why this Bastion might be sitting next to a river for this long?"

"Defective?" Dva suggested with a shrug, causing her mech to mimic her motions in a strangely adorable way.

"Speculations are not the path to answers. Only going there and finding out will reveal the truth." Zenyatta said.

And he was right. A few minutes later, the team was hiding behind an especially dense bush with dark green leaves and funny red berries on it. They were lurking through the small gaps in the bush's foliage, observing the old Bastion unit they were looking for. The machine was overgrown with grass and heavily weathered. It was sitting on a large boulder near the water, it's head tilted sideways in a curious manner. A beautiful little bird was bathing in an area near the otherwise rather violent waters, where the cool beck was more calm.

"What is he doing there?" DVa whispered silently.

"Again, the only path to enlightenment is not speculation." Zenyatta said, and before anyone could stop him, he found his way through the bush and out into the open, approaching the Bastion.

"Zen! Stop!" Tracer hissed, but the Omnic monk was already gone, causing Lena to roll her eyes in disbelieve. Did he _want_ to get killed? "Oh, let's walk up to an old defense-bot armed with a Gatling-gun the size of a full grown man. Sure. Go right ahead. I don't see what could _possibly_ go wrong here." She rubbed her hand over her forehead, contemplating whether she should follow Zen or not.

"Technically, Zenyatta is floating, Unni. Not... walking."

"Not helping, Hana. Not helping at all." Tracer groaned. She found herself wishing that Widowmaker was here. They would have an expert long-range marksman with them if things went south. _Just in case._

Also, because of the company.

-/-

**Watchpoint Gibraltar, infirmary, four days later, early evening.**

Mercy was sitting behind her spacious desk, filing away all the reports and medical charts which had unsurprisingly piled up the past couple of days. Between caring for Amélie and tending to Fareeha, the latter taking considerably more of her time than the former, there was hardly any time to spare for the necessary paperwork. Still, it had to be done, and Dr. Ziegler was meticulous enough to not let unavoidable tasks slide for too long.

Some of the reports she was reading were from Dr. Laguardia, who was doing a fantastic job now that he had settled in despite his somewhat bumpy start at the Watchpoint. He had pretty bad luck with his second patient, though. Widowmaker wasn't exactly easy to deal with, by any stretch of the imagination, so much was for certain. Especially not when you just so happened to be a complete stranger, someone she had never met, and thus, didn't trust for even an instant. Being a doctor on top of all that as well and then be unlucky enough to get too close for her comfort and you inevitably end up in a bad situation. Mercy shared a rather loosely defined friendship with Widowmaker now. They knew and trusted each other, but even Angela would never go as far as to call the former Talon master assassin benign. She was anything but. Widowmaker was _still_ very much capable of being as deadly as  she was in her prime as Talon's top assassin. The only difference was that no one was now forcing her hand.

So, Laguardia was pretty lucky in that regard. Hell, sometimes even Angela had her difficulties with Widowmaker. One moment she was in a talkative, almost playful mood and then, from one blink of an eye to the next, she'd grow cold and distant. The glare in her golden eyes would intensify a thousand-fold and Mercy got the scary impression that her French friend was getting ready to murder someone. It happened seemingly at random, with no recognizable pattern or connection between the topics the doctor and her patient had been talking about, and it definitely happened more than once.

Angela was relatively positive that the only one who understood - _truly_ understood - Widowmaker was Lena. She somehow did so purely on intuition and by watching closely. Somehow this worked like a charm, and it was easy to notice for anyone who had spent even a little time around Amélie that she almost started glowing whenever Lena was around. Well, as much glowing as Widowmaker could, but the change was still very much visible.

Tracer was the sole reason Amélie was able to carry on. The reason she stayed sane until now.  She told Mercy so in one of their conversations. She also told her just how much Lena really means to her, how important she is, and how much she truly needs her.

Angela was baffled to hear how deep the connection between her best friend and Widow really was. There were facets to what Amélie said; little details and small hints, and none of them were lost to Angela's attentive ears, which proclaimed how deep Widow's devotion for Tracer was really rooted inside her. It was beautiful. Almost a bit scary. But mostly beautiful.

Lena had somehow become Amélie's anchor, allowing her to function relatively normally and not lose her mind.

The problem was, Lena wasn't here. She was on that pickup mission to Stuttgart with Zenyatta and DVa, a mission which surely sounded a lot easier on paper than it actually was.

Amélie, however, _was_ still here, as she had nowhere else to go.

Looking up from her paperwork, Angela blinked twice as she glanced around in her otherwise empty office. Well, at least Amélie was _supposed_ to be here.

And she had been just that a few minutes before, idly sitting on Mercy's desk. Her absurdly long legs had been dangling off the front, the palms of her hands flatly placed on either side of her well-shaped behind while she was staring at the door, as if she was waiting for something or someone. She had pulled her trademark ponytail over her shoulder, so her long, silk-like purple hair wouldn't get in the way of Angela's documents. Something the good doctor had greatly appreciated at the time before she apparently got completely absorbed by her work. Mercy furrowed a brow, looking at the clock on her desk. She swallowed heavily, noticing that her initial guess of merely minutes passing couldn't have been further off.

Amélie was gone.

She shouldn't be gone.

" _Scheiße_ " Mercy uttered under her breath, getting up from her chair and walking around the shelf behind her, hoping that Amélie might be somewhere in the sickbay.

No such luck.

The only one who _was_ there was Fareeha who had been taken out of the ICU a while ago and had been transferred to the regular sickbay afterward. The Egyptian warrior was making _great_ progress; much better than Mercy would have guessed at first. Fareeha was incredibly determined when it came to getting better. Through careful training and therapy, supported by highly specialized nanoprobes, she was already able to move her arms again. Still not to their full extent, for she couldn't lift them over her head or reach behind her back, but Pharah was at least able to eat her own food, giving her back a lot of human dignity. A part of her had hated it that she had to be fed and that part was very vocal about it, too. At least until Angela took the feeding of Pharah upon herself.

"Said something?" Fareeha asked, looking up from a magazine she was reading. It was placed in her lap, holding things for longer periods of time was still causing her pain. It would go away over time, Angela knew.

"Ah, no." Mercy muttered "Say, you didn't happen to have seen Amélie?"

"Who? Your French replacement bodyguard?" Fareeha quipped with a smirk.

Angela rolled her eyes. Pharah had been pushing that particular button on her quite a lot since she woke up again, loving the reaction she would get from Mercy, always slightly embarrassed.

"I told you already" Angela huffed "I have to keep an eye on her; not the other way around."

"I didn't know her name was Amélie."

"Well, it is. I hate calling her _Widowmaker._ It's what Talon made out of her; not who she is."

Pharah shrugged, noting that Mercy, indeed, didn't call her by her call-sign even once. "It's not a very positive nickname, I suppose. She brought me that _magazine_ here" Fareeha nodded into her lap "Not too sure what I'm supposed to do with the Heckler  & Koch catalogue or where she got that from, but I'm not very picky right now." Fareeha smiled goofily "Then again, I might want that thermo-scope for my rocket-launcher?" She lifted the catalogue up half way, looking at the item in question. "But it's two thousand bucks... And I don't know if I will ever walk or even fly again because my doctor has been filing documents _all day long._ " she pouted playfully. 

"Sorry" Mercy blushed a little "Am I neglecting you?" she asked, sitting down on the edge of Fareeha's bed, like she had always done when she had still been feeding her patient and ever since. It was strange how fast they had gotten familiar with each other. Maybe it was because Angela had been spending a great amount of time taking care of the woman who took a bullet for her. But even before she spent what felt like almost each wake moment in close proximity to Pharah, talking to her always came rather naturally to Angela. It was like she didn't even have to think about what she was going to say. That was something which didn't often happen to Mercy, because she usually had the habit of talking about things no one else really understood, like nanobiology. So, in order to make herself more socially accessible, Angela taught herself to be very careful when it came to picking topics for a conversation. It was rare for her to naturally find something to talk about with non-doctors. Tracer, of course, came to mind, but somehow that was different.

"It's ok, it's ok." Pharah laughed. "You have responsibilities. My boredom is my problem." she grinned "So, _Amélie_?" Fareeha brought Mercy's attention back to the reason why the two were talking in the first place.

"Yes! I'm looking for her, you know she is supposed to stay close to me." Angela looked around in the infirmary one final time, just to make sure that Widow wasn't standing in a corner staring away into the distance, like she did from time to time. She was so zoned out then, not even calling her by her name would bring her back. Mercy sometimes wondered where Amélie's thoughts wandered off to, but she was relatively certain that she didn't really want to know exactly. "But she isn't."

"Well, as I said, she brought me that... reading material. It was maybe two hours ago. Since then I-" Pharah stopped herself from talking further, a frown covering her features. "Oh, she is _good_."

"I'm sorry?" Angela asked in confusion, not able to follow. What was Fareeha talking about?

"Think about it, why would _Widowmaker_ care to bring me a something to alleviate my boredom? She is here now, sure and all, but at the end of the day, she is an _assassin._ Shot my mom square in the face. I think we can agree she isn't the person to line up some entertainment for someone out of the goodness of her heart, right? I mean, why would she care? Since I was the only one who was around in the back of the sickbay she only had to distract me to leave through the backdoor. You would have noticed her slipping away through the front."

Angela blinked. That was highly likely. "We'll have to talk about your disquieting attitude toward your mother." She admonished.

"She abandoned me, Angela; sent me off to some boarding school so she didn't have to be bothered with me. And then she got shot. There is nothing tying us together. That woman was dead to me before she... died." Fareeha frowned for but an instant.

"As I said, we will talk about this." Angela insisted, deeply worried about her patient... her friend’s mental health.

"We will not." Fareeha stated coolly and with such finality it gave Mercy the chills. "It's none of your business" she snapped, the cold pain turning Pharah's voice frosty not lost on Mercy. She sharply sucked in some air. Fareeha didn't mean it like this. She didn't mean to be rude, the doctor was aware of that. It still stung to hear it. 

"Alright. If that's what you want" Angela sighed in defeat, letting that issue slide for now. However, she knew that one day they would have this conversation, if Fareeha liked it or not. "Anyway, I have to find a certain culprit before she causes trouble..."

-/-

Widowmaker wasn't out to cause any trouble. She just wanted to get outside for a while and clear her mind from all the thoughts creeping through it like little bugs. She took in a deep breath of the salty sea-water air when she had successfully avoided all guards and soldiers inside the Watchpoint and had snuck outside. She wanted to be alone so she could think. Her eyes fell on a location which seemed adequate and she headed for it.

What was she going to do now? She was here, at Overwatch, with Lena and in safety. Sure. But what now? The talk she had with Lena a few days ago came back to mind. They were discussing if she wanted to join Overwatch's fight against Talon. At first, Amélie hadn't been so sure, held back by the uncertainty of what she might become. Lena reassured her that no one expected her to fight if she didn't want to. But the more Widow thought about matters, about the people who she was with now, Lena and Angela in particular, and about the unspeakable things Talon did to her and whatever small fragments she remembered of her past, the more she _wanted_ to fight. Ever since Lena had been off to Stuttgart and she herself had only been sitting around idly Amélie started to burn for it. The thought of crushing those sick bastards under the heel of her boot made her giddy with excitement.

But she knew that this excitement was what Talon wanted her to feel. That the urge to fight and kill was what they made her feel because it suited their goals. And that appalled her.

But at the same time, the chance of revenge on those who did all those gruesome things to her seemed like an opportunity to satisfy a long unsated hunger. Her body was aching for the chance to experience the thrill of the hunt again. It craved the warm rush of taking someone's life away, and the excitement she felt when her gun recoiled into her shoulder and she saw a life at the other end of her scope perish in a cloud of exhilarating blood.

She feared that feeling, for it was what made her lose control. But she also missed it. Usually, Tracer made her feel the same way whenever they were together, ravishing each other, both burning from primal desire in a dance of messy lovemaking. But Tracer wasn't here now, and Amélie's thoughts became more and more clouded. She held no sympathy for Talon. Hell, she _hated_ Talon.

Time after time again, Lena had reassured her that this was only natural and nothing to be afraid of. That it was perfectly human to feel hatred toward those who had been using and abusing her for so long. That it only surfaced now because Amélie was allowed to recover.

Still, it wasn't so simple. It never was. The excitement she felt…it was what Talon _wanted_. And now, to Amélie, going back to what she did best seemed like fulfilling the purpose Talon had created her for in the first place. It felt like some sort of twisted applause to Talon even if they were at the business end of her rifle.

Did all of that even matter as long as she was using her unique skills for a just cause? And was it a just cause? She had no concept of morality whatsoever, solely relying on what Tracer said. Did she even care about the cause or was it more because Lena wanted it? That particular answer at least was easy enough to give.

That bubbly, annoying little Brit was her everything.

During her discussions with Mercy about her upcoming treatment of all her implants, the Swiss doctor had been going on about the fact that she would be able to leave Widowmaker's skills untouched. She would be in the same fighting condition as before, maybe even a little better. Amélie knew that Angela only told her these things to help alleviate her insecurities and fear of lying on the operating table, but it still helped. It gave her _options._ Amélie didn't have those before as far as she remembered.

Widowmaker was quickly climbing up a rain water downpipe, or at least she was using it as support for climbing up the side wall of one of the Watchpoint's auxiliary buildings. At first, she thought about climbing up the radar dome on the building next to it, but she didn't have her gear with her, and the dome's surface was really smooth, so no way she would pull that off. The high tower next to it, however, was no problem.

Some physical exercise was exactly what Amélie needed now. Hopefully that would help her focus again. She had nearly lost her mind inside Mercy's office where there was nothing to kill apart from time. Her thoughts haven't gotten her anywhere.

Did she want to fight?

She didn't know. It was a two-sided sword. Her own revenge seemed sweet, and Lena told her it was what she deserved, but ultimately it would be Talon's making, wouldn't it? Then again, Tracer had been going on about how she would destroy Talon at every chance she got, the Brit's voice full of agitated hatred the likes of which Amélie had never heard from her lover before. And if Lena was so passionate to bring Talon down, Widowmaker would stand right behind her. In the end, what did it matter that they made her into a precision weapon if they were all dead?

Amélie skillfully halted her movements, noticing a group of soldiers passing by underneath her. They were chatting about petty things, apparently not too concerned with what was going on around them. Naturally, none of them noticed the former assassin holding on to the side of the building's facade. Incompetent fools. If she was here to cause damage, they would be caught by complete surprise. On her way out, Widowmaker had noticed at least half a dozen critical security issues a skilled assassin like herself could have easily exploited to get inside the Watchpoint and do their dirty deeds.

Finally, the group of soldiers walked out of sight, and Amélie continued her way upward, easily climbing the wall like a spider. She had been doing things like this for so long. She masterfully reached positions no one else could.

What was wrong with her these days? She used to simply pull the trigger without any remorse or any thought about it. Where did her resolve go? Widowmaker felt lost without Tracer around to guide her and she didn't like that feeling one bit. Lena gave her direction and purpose. She never had any doubts before and she wouldn't start that nonsense now. The question of if she wanted to fight was purely academic anyway. She didn't know if that uptight, stick-up-his-ass Commander Morrison would even let her. Probably not.

And if not, what then? Apart from the one kill she would _have_ to do because of her debt to Reaper, what would she do with her life? Would she even care what Morrison had to say? Or would she become a stay-at-home wife to Lena, patiently waiting for her beloved to return home? Amélie cringed internally at the thought, almost losing her grip to the wall. She loved Lena and would do _anything_ for her, but a housewife wasn't who she really was or wanted to be.  Widow was rather certain that Tracer was acutely aware of that. She wouldn't ever want Amélie to live such a life either. Widow wanted to do _something_ that wasn't sitting around all day. Talon at least put her into cryonetic hibernation when they didn't need her for longer periods of time. They just shock-frosted her room with her still inside. It didn't feel nice, but it did beat the feeling of being completely useless.

Amélie hated being useless. She just hoped things would get _a lot_ better in the long run, because right now it felt like hell. Having to follow someone around all day, going where they go, not getting to do anything useful…it was close to torture.

It wasn't Angela's fault. The woman had a job to do and Widow wouldn't be the one keeping her from it. That's also why she had decided to just sneak off. Distracting the Egyptian who apparently was called Pharah or something (Widow hadn't really listened at the time), had been easy enough. The woman fell for it immediately, and she seemed even thankful. Not the least bit suspicious. What an amateur. But to be fair, if Amélie had been tied to a bed with no way of getting out anytime soon she would have probably accepted any form of distraction without asking, too.

Widowmaker smoothly pulled her lean body over the edge on top of the tower, matching the grace and elegance of a lean cat silently sneaking past an obstacle before she got up on top of it, the breathtaking sunset giving her pause. A soft and warm wind was blowing through her silken hair, and Amélie inhaled deeply, eagerly sucking in the salty ocean air. From where she was standing, the view out over the strait of Gibraltar was even more breathtaking than from any other place in the Watchpoint. She walked a few steps toward the middle of the small platform on top of the tower, her heels clicking on the metal ground and let her eyes wander. It was peaceful up here. She would have to convince Lena to come here with her sometime. This really seemed like a nice place to talk, enjoy the view, and then enjoy themselves. Widow was sure Lena would be an eternal sucker for doing something naughty up here.

A small smirk crossed over her lips at the thought of just _what_ she would do to her lover in this place, remote enough to be safe from unwanted eyes and ears but close enough to the Watchpoint to still feel naughty. The wind and noises of the ocean below them would wash their moans away, unheard by anyone but themselves.

"Most unusual to have company up here" a slightly metallic voice suddenly said from Amélie's left side. She immediately spun around to see who managed to sneak up on her _here_ of all the places. But what she saw made her quickly conclude that no one snuck up on her. Quite the opposite, apparently. It would seem she wasn't the only one seeking a remote location to clear her mind and think some things through in peace.

The eyelid of her left eye twitched in annoyance. She wanted to be _alone._ Bothering with _this_ fool was not on her list of things she intended to do today.

Genji was sitting cross legged in front of an iron girder, the face of his metal mask was placed right in front of his legs and his hands were folded in his lap.

Widowmaker was about to sneer at him for being up here, but then some of Tracer's social lessons kicked in, where she tried to teach her a few things of how she should act around everyone. 'Professional politeness' she had called it. It would help her get accepted more easily, she had said.

" _Pardon_ " Amélie said instead of the harsh comment she wanted to use before, yet her voice still cold as ice and dripping with contempt. "I didn't know _you_ were up here." she added with a distinct tang of arrogance, turning to leave. For but an instant, the urge to just kick the ridiculous ninja off the tower and be done with it overwhelmed her mind, but Widowmaker didn't act on that. Of all the people she got to know by name at the Watchpoint, Genji was actually one of the few she could see herself getting along with. At least on a professional level. He had his reservations toward her, but he was rather... rational when voicing them. Still, he was annoying.

"I come here often if I need time to think. It is a good spot." he said without looking up. "Come. Sit with me." Genji pointed a hand to the sunny place next to him.

"And why exactly would I want do that?" Widow sneered, not the least bit inclined to just sit down and talk to this person.

"I see I haven't done much to earn you trust." He stated calmly. If he was offended by Widowmaker's snarky comment, he didn't show it.

" _Non._ " Widow replied, not knowing why she was even still here. She should have just left. "I'm not welcome here, I understand that. I would be a fool to trust you." She said, now finally turning to leave.

"Allow me to change that." Genji said, and Widowmaker almost overheard it. She stopped dead in her tracks, contemplating if she really understood his words correctly and decided that there was no harm in taking this chance. If he wanted to try something, Widow was sure she could still kick him off the tower and to demise. She turned back around and walked over to Genji.

" _Pardon?_ " she asked, crossing her arms over her chest, staring at him, the orange sunlight reflecting intimidatingly in her golden eyes.

"I have been doing a lot of thinking lately, especially since my master returned" Genji continued, allowing Widowmaker her distance and distrust, not inviting her to sit down again. "I didn't trust you back in Diskon. I heard many bad things about you and your work, and I was concerned for my friends’ wellbeing. Especially for Dr. Ziegler, who is very special to me and whom I am rather protective of. But, at the time, I failed to see that you weren't the one to cause her harm. Quite the opposite; you saved her where we almost failed." He sighed deeply and with a painful sounding metallic rattling in his voice, as he looked up and into Amélie's burning eyes "Angela was, of course, right to draw some... painful comparisons between you and me." he paused for a moment, taking in the presence that was Widowmaker, her persona intimidating and dangerous. She was a formidable opponent for certain. While he studied her, Widow got a good view of his scar covered face, the skin almost molten, yet his eyes brighter than usual and never more alive. "I want to apologize for distrusting you." Genji continued, looking away again. "I should have learned more from my own past. We all are but a product of it, and I for one should know that people change. Should there be anything I can help you with, please feel free to speak to me."

Amélie chuckled silently. She had to admit that she did _not_ expect an apology.

"Not trusting me from the beginning wasn't a mistake. Anything else would have been foolish." She said before she had thought about it.

"How so?" The younger Shimada brother asked, seeing Amélie visibly stiffening, her lean body tensing up. "You went to great lengths to bring Dr. Ziegler back."

Amélie laughed painfully "Trust needs to be earned. It doesn't come from nothing. You haven't earned it yet. But neither have I" She said, painfully reminded of how her first encounters with Lena Oxton went and how long she had tried to kill the Brit before eventually realizing that all she wanted to do was help her. The night in London. Being carried to safety. "And make no mistake, I would have disposed of you and the cowboy if not for Angela stopping me." She added, cold as ice.

Genji nodded silently. "I thought you might say that."

"I deemed you a threat to her" Widowmaker stated matter-of-factly.

"We didn't know each other, no one can blame you for doing your job. But our behavior was far from honorable afterwards, when everyone's intents were already clear. It was not the way." The ninja said. "You brought Dr. Ziegler back and we disrespected you. I came to realize that this was wrong." Genji said and sounded deeply hurt. For him, it felt like he had tainted his own honor, something he had taken great pride in. Zenyatta taught him how important it was to be at peace with himself. "For that I want to apologize to you."

Amélie was honestly taken aback a bit "You... truly want to apologize." She repeated carefully and on her guard. That smelled fishy. But Genji didn't move or even flinch. He just nodded slowly.

"You deserved to be thanked for bringing her back; not treated with hostility. You and Angela both. We did ourselves great dishonor that day." He said, and Amélie found herself chuckling with bemusement.

 "Well, I hear Talon hostages usually have some rather dangerous habits. They generally come with nasty surprises." She said shrugging "It's not like it matters now. I don't care."

"You refer to your own past." It wasn't a question. Amélie didn't know. _They_ made her forget. They made her do a lot of things. Yet, it was strange, for she always had some twisted kind of purpose. There was a goal she was living for. And now? It got so complicated.

"That's none of your business, _enfoire_ " she hissed angrily, aggressive enough to make most people with a little bit of common sense back down. But Genji remained unfazed. He just looked up at Amélie with a strange expression in his eyes, something akin to worry.

"When Dr. Ziegler saved my life and built this body for me, I hated her so much that I tried to kill her. I tried twice. No one knows about this, not even her. She must never find out."

"Why would you tell me this?" Amélie asked, frowning slightly. This was going into a direction she had not anticipated.

"As you said, trust is something you earn. You give and take it. There needs to be balance. Yin and Yan, give and take. How can I expect you to tell me something if I don't trust you with the same?"

Widowmaker laughed aloud at that "You sound like a monk. An insane monk." She said. "You don't seriously expect me to just open up to you, do you?" she said, turning around to leave the ninja to his own little world.

"Maybe not now, but one day" he said and, yet again, Widowmaker found herself stopping. Damn. This was not some bad slapstick comedy show, but he had managed to stop her from leaving a third time by adding some afterthought.

"I know someone who would use what you just told me against you with no shame or remorse" she said, referring to a Mexican acquaintance of hers, looking over her shoulder.

"I don't care about someone. Would you?" Genji asked.

Amélie hesitated for a second, contemplating her reply. She wasn't here to cause trouble, nor did she want to bring one of her lover's friends into any. "No." Amélie replied, and for some reason she felt good while saying it. She turned around and walked back the few steps to where Genji was sitting.

He, once more, gestured to the spot next to him, silently inviting Widowmaker to come and sit with him, enjoying the marvelous sunset on this warm evening, the mild winds carrying salty air into their noses.

Amélie sat down with some distance between her and Genji. A part of her felt uncomfortable, but another part of her caused her to speak up despite not really knowing why.

"Things used to be so simple. Not good and definitely not easy, but... simple. I knew their wicked rules. I knew them and played along. But now..." Amélie stared into the distance, acutely aware of Genji next to her. Sharing a few concerns, she reasoned, wouldn't be a problem, and maybe she would even get a few ideas that would help her get along until Lena was back. That said, she wouldn't let her guard down. This discussion was already heading into waters she wasn't sure she wanted to cross.

The ninja hummed carefully, apparently choosing the words of his reply with some thought.

"You have been ripped out of everything you knew. I don't want to suggest I know how it must feel, because I have no way of doing so. I have never been fond of speculations and rumors, contrary to the many versions of what might have happened to you which people talk about. They discuss the effects and motivations of Talon and your relation to them like they are sports. Most are just trying to take blame off themselves. But I did read some old reports years ago." Genji inhaled deeply, looking Amélie straight in the eyes, her golden glare suddenly losing its blazing burn, the fierce anger usually so apparent no longer lighting up inside of them as Genji apparently peered into her soul. "You will learn to be free again; I'm sure of it. The shackles they placed on you will be broken, and the ties of your past will come free. People will grow to accept that they have been seeing you for someone you are not. They will accept you, given the time. You won't feel lost forever."

Amélie blinked, shocked to notice that the ninja was able to pinpoint her deepest, most secret thoughts in a few sentences; something she wasn't able to do herself. The glare in her eyes returned, and she directed it at Genji.

"What makes you think I'm lost?" she asked defensively.

"Experience." he said easily, throwing Widowmaker off balance. Damn, that ninja was almost as irritating as Tracer was at times. And almost as insightful…in a different, less pleasant way. "I was ripped out of my life, too. Not like you, of course, but also rather violently. Betrayed by my own brother. When it was all said and done, and I was left to bleed to death, Overwatch made me an offer which I accepted and fulfilled. Afterward, I had no place to go and no home to return to. I was lost and confused like no one else. Filled with hatred toward my brother, hatred at humanity for what they are, hatred at those who saved my life, and hatred at myself. All that even though I voluntarily agreed to do what Overwatch wanted me to. I did it because I wanted a choice. I still felt lost. My own decisions led to that point. I have no one else to blame but myself." He said, yet again, sharing a piece as if it was some kind of trade. "But you, Amélie Lacroix? You were never given choice. Your hand was forced from the day Talon abducted you and turned you into their puppet…maybe even before that day. You expect me to believe that the puppet can stand on its own after years of being held by strings? And you were their puppet, weren't you? You know where you are and what you do? I doubt that."

"I-" Amélie snapped before huffing in annoyance. "Usually Angela gives me these speeches _._ What are you? A monk _and_ some kind of psychologist? I'm starting to dislike you."

Genji laughed loudly.

"No, I merely had a wise mentor." There was a long pause of complete silence between them. "Tell me, do you at least know where you _want_ to be?" Genji asked, and it sounded like he knew the answer already. Amélie's eyes drifted away over the ocean, dreamily gazing into nothing but still seeing what she desired the most.

" _Oui._ Like nothing else." The answer was ridiculously easy, and Amélie cringed internally that she couldn't stop herself from just blurting it out like that. When she thought about the future, there was only one place she wanted to be, and that was at Lena's side no matter where that was exactly.

"Then your path is set. You already know a lot more than I did when I was in a similar situation. Not quite comparable, I know, but I too was in a... difficult place, dare I say."

"Oh? You were turned into a weapon by a Terror organization too? Against your will?" Amélie scoffed.

A chuckle escaped Genji.

"Obviously I wasn't. As I said, I was given a choice. I hated it at first, and it didn't feel like one at all for quite some time, but ultimately, it _was_ a choice. I have long since forgiven my brother. Though I am still deeply ashamed for what I said and did because of it. Especially to Dr. Ziegler."

"You forgave him?" she asked with a hiss.

"Yes. But it is not the message I wanted to tell you with this. No one expects you to forgive Talon for what they did; trust me."

There was another second of silence in which Amélie regarded Genji's words. He spoke them calmly and with peace. She wasn't able to speak about Talon like this. It always left a sour taste in her mouth and a tingling sensation in her stomach. Genji had obviously made his peace with his past a long time ago. She would never make her peace with Talon. Never.

"I see" Amélie replied. Maybe they did share more similarities than she initially thought; especially the altered bodies. Though Angela constructed Genji's cybernetic body to save his life, whereas Amélie was modified because someone wanted to have the perfect assassin.

"As I said, I had a very wise teacher. Someone who guided me on my path to understand myself, who I was, and who I wanted to become. I wouldn't be where I am now without him." Genji said, sounding like he was extremely fond of that person. "If you want, I can ask him to talk to you too. I'm positive he will be able to provide some much needed answers for you."

Usually, Widow only discussed these matters with Lena. She was the only one who she trusted enough to talk about anything concerning the details of her past. But maybe a new perspective would help? Maybe it would help her figure out what she wanted to do. Amélie would have to talk to Lena about it first and make sure that she was ok with it all.

"I'll have to think about that." Amélie replied after some hesitation. "The last time someone tried to talk to me about such things it didn't end nicely."

"Very well." Genji nodded, easily understanding that Widowmaker did not wish to discuss this matter further. "In the meantime, I suggest we do something a little more active than sitting around here." he sighed "Angela is going to have my head for this, but there have been bets among the others already."

"Bets?" Amélie perked up an eyebrow. "What kind of bets?" she was getting suspicious.

"Tell me, are you bored?"

"Out of my mind" Amélie rolled her eyes.

"Then you'll see." Genji replied, attaching the front of his mask back onto his helmet. "I promise, you'll love it."

-/-

**Talon headquarters, yellow sea, 2015 hours**

"Mr. Reyes?" Gerda's small voice asked, the maid obviously unsure whether she should interrupt her master or not. But he hadn't left the office for a few days now, and she was growing increasingly worried. Of course, the attentive maid was very much aware that her new owner didn't like sitting behind a desk at all, so that made him not leaving his office all the more strange.

"I brought you some snacks, if you don't mind..." she tried carefully. When there was no reply, Gerda swallowed deeply, gathering all her courage before she opened the door into the office occupied by the new leader of Talon. The small maid had to use her elbow for pushing the handle down since she was balancing a silver tablet with coffee and some sandwiches in her arms. She didn't really know what she should prepare for Reaper since she also didn't know his preferences, so, lacking other options, she decided to prepare a few choices everyone liked. One tuna, one ham, and one tomato mozzarella, all three meticulously self-made by the maid.

Upon entering Reaper's office, she had little difficulty spotting the black-clad man inside the sparsely illuminated room. He was standing in between pile after pile of documents, the towers made of paper almost as tall as he was himself. His back was turned to Gerda, but she could see that he was reading a dossier on something, the brown cover standing out past his elbow, a few pages close to falling off. How the man could see anything in this light, let alone read, was beyond the maid, her eyes needing a moment to adjust to the darkness.

It was obvious that Reaper didn't realize his maid's presence as he turned to walk over to another huge pile of documents, ripping out a dossier from well within the stack. Only by doing this extremely fast did he prevent the entire stack from collapsing.

"Mr. Reyes?" Gerda spoke up again, this time with a little more urgency in her voice.

Reaper heard her now. He spun around, startled, clearly not expecting someone to just come into his office. The documents he was holding were flying out of their cardboard covers, spreading evenly around his dark figure.

Gerda gasped, immediately blaming herself. She rushed over to the desk, quickly putting down the tray she had been carrying. She noticed that Reaper's mask was lying on top of the desk. "I'm sorry, Master! I didn't mean to startle you! Please forgive me" she squealed in panic, experience having taught her that she would be punished mercilessly. Immediately she rushed over to Reaper, almost sliding to her knees, attempting to pick up the documents she had caused to fall down. "Let me clean that up for you, Master!"

But before Gerda could land on the expensive wooden floor covered with thick carpets, Reaper caught the maid at her wrists, pulling her up and displaying just how much his reflexes were honed by many years of brutal combat. It all happened within the blink of an eye. Gerda's feet lost contact with the ground as she was helplessly hanging in the air. Reaper was easily able to hold her lithe frame up with only one hand. He held her high, yet his face was facing toward the ground, obscuring the view of his true visage.

"What did I tell you about addressing me, Gerda?" he grumbled deeply.

"I'm sorry! But I can't help it! You are my master now, and I was taught to address you as such!" the maid whimpered, and Reaper couldn't help but shake his head in defeat. He knew that there was most likely not a chance he would get her to drop that habit of hers anytime soon. At least, not completely. She was trying to improve, calling him by his name most of the time. Rationally, Reaper knew that it was hardly the maid’s fault. Emotionally, it still bothered him more than it probably should have.

"Haven't I told you to take the day off?" Reaper asked, his voice still as low and dangerous as it got. Gerda could have sworn he was furious.

"That was four days ago, Ma... Mr. Reyes. I was worried about you since you didn't leave the office! I thought you might be hungry, so I brought you some snacks and coffee! Please eat something and let me take care of the documents. I accept any punishment after I corrected my mistake!"

She, again, heard Reaper grumble deeply in his throat and felt her heart skip probably a couple of beats.

He would kill her; she was sure of it.

That was it.

She overstepped a boundary and signed her fate by doing so. Her old master always warned her that one day she would cross a line and that it was only because of his merciful nature that she was still alive. Reaper knew no mercy. She was foolish; so very foolish. Gerda should have known better. Reaper was infamous for his cruelty and his overly strict and harsh expectations.

And, indeed, Reaper was angry. But not at the maid. Naturally, Reaper wasn't showing it, but the man did shed an invisible tear for the girl. Fates like hers made up a large portion of why he was still doing what he was doing. Not that Gerda would know or could ever find out about it. It wasn't right. Nothing was right.  The girl was barely of legal age at most; probably even younger. He didn't even want to think about where she came from or what happened to her. How she ended up in this place, her mind stripped of all individuality, only programmed to serve her master. He was disgusted. Infuriated. Outraged. But not at her. Another angry growl escaped his throat.

It wasn't Gerda's fault. She had no choice. Just like Widowmaker never had a choice. Numbed down and forced to obey against her will. Until she ran into a certain Brit, who freed her of her shackles. A knight in shining armor coming to her rescue. Gerda didn't have that knight. No one would come to save her. Certainly not Reaper, for he had much higher stakes to poker for.

Gerda expected a lot. To be put down onto the floor again and roughly turned around wasn't one of these things she thought would happen. Reaper walked past her, his leather coat brushing against her legs, sending a cold shiver through Gerda's spine. He reached for his mask on top of the desk.

"Come here and sit down" he said with a firm voice. Gerda obeyed immediately, appearing at his side out of nowhere and proceeding to sit down on one of the two chairs reserved for guests. But Reaper's hand stopped the maid, instead pointing at the huge dark red leather armchair which was usually reserved for the boss.

"Sir?" Gerda asked in confusion, but Reaper just gestured at his seat. Not really knowing what she was doing or what was going on, Gerda naturally obeyed, walking around the large desk and nervously slipping into the extremely comfortable, softly-cushioned leather chair of Talon's head.

Reaper pushed the plate with absolutely delicious smelling sandwiches toward Gerda, noticing that she gulped heavily. _Right, this might feel like the last meal to her._

"Eat something." he ordered "I'm not hungry."

"But... but Sir, you haven't eaten anything in four days!" Gerda exclaimed, looking at Reaper with worry written all over her face.

"I haven't eaten anything in many, many years" he chuckled "I don't need food to keep my body working." Reaper turned to face the documents scattered across the floor. It was true, ever since Dr. Ziegler decided  to resurrect him he didn't need food anymore. It was just an unnecessary pleasure to him now. "Or what's left of it." he added more for himself, though he suspected Gerda still heard. That blonde cunt just couldn't let him die. He was dead for more than an hour and his soul long transitioned into another world when she just _had_ to pull him back. Some things are better left the way nature intended them. Death was one of those things.

"But what do you eat to survive, then?" The poor maid dared to ask, immediately regretting that she opened her mouth. She decided to stuff it with one of the sandwiches she had prepared, noticing that she, indeed, did a good job. They were delicious.

"You don't want to know that." Reaper replied, crouching down to pick up the papers he needed.

"Please, Mr. Reyes, let me clean up the mess I caused. I don't deserve to sit here, eating what I prepared for you." she stated submissively.

Reaper glanced over his shoulder "And why is that?"

"B-Because I'm here to serve you! It's my sole purpose"

"If you want to serve me, then eat up." Reaper says curtly. "Wasting food should be a crime."

A brief moment of silence spread between him and the maid before the latter spoke up again.

 "You don't trust me, do you, Master?" she asked, sounding broken. It almost seemed like it would be the worst insult to her persona to distrust her.

"Trust has nothing to do with it," Reaper replied with a careless shrug, placing the different sheets of paper back inside the dossier.

"Then why don't you let me help?"

"It's for your own good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:  
> First of all I want to apologize for the seriously long wait on this. It's my fault and I'm sorry for it, I never wanted to make you all wait this long, but you know how things go with real life and stuff.  
> "Excuses, excuses"  
> -Amélie....  
> "what, you were sitting on that for how long? Three months?"  
> -Yeah, yeah, I know. I feel guilty already, don't tell me these things all the time!  
> "You are slacking"  
> -Remind me, why exactly am I cooking dinner for you tonight?  
> "Because you like me?"  
> -No, because for some reason I agreed to take you in to keep you out of prison.  
> "See? You like me"  
> -Ok, ok, I do like you. And I will remind you of that the next time you decide to bang Lena on the kitchen table. Now get out of here and at least prepare the table for dinner. And before you ask, yes, you can ask Lena to come over. I have enough ingredients.  
> Soo, there is that, she's busy now. Alright. Where were we again? Ah yes, I'm sorry again that this took me forever to publish. I'm not dead or anything else, some of you were worried and I apologize for that, too. Just life and being busy as hell.  
> Ok, to address some concerns: I WILL finish Addictions. The final draft is done and I can tell you now that there are going to be around 12 more chapters, including this one. I have written quite a bit ahead by now and I think things are turning out okay.  
> I hope that it won't take me months to publish again, as a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure it won't. But be patient. My trusty beta-reader, who is working very hard to help me with this, has a life too and needs time to correct my shit. He can't work wonders and he is doing such a lovely job, so I don't want to rush him.  
> Special thanks to my two Angels, I guess we have lost one on the way.  
> EhMattissimo said he wants to publish a Overwatch-fanfic too, I'll tell you once he puts it out there.  
> I'll see you in the next one!  
> o7  
> E82
> 
> Translations:  
> Well, you should know them all by now and I'm drunk as fuck so I really don't want to translate now. Ask if you need to know something.


	31. Not as expected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to support the story, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction

**Watchpoint Gibraltar, the same day.**

Much to Widowmaker's surprise, Genji had been right.

Indeed, there was something that Amélie _would_ love in the basement of Watchpoint Gibraltar. However, she might not have realized that immediately when she walked into the slightly messy armory and workshop that marked the kingdom of one Torbjörn Lindholm.

Widowmaker followed Genji out of the elevator. The latter wasn't really fazed to see that the armory was quite well attended at the moment, while the former might have felt a sudden rush of discomfort. Amélie did notice that people tended to turn and glance at her briefly whenever she entered a room. It wasn't really something she particularly enjoyed. The fact that the armory down there was usually well visited -not only by the combat wing of Overwatch but also by the various technicians who got their instruments and tools from Torbjörn- didn't really help matters.

Two random members of Overwatch were waiting for the elevator, carrying a huge box, and quickly thanked Genji for preventing the door from closing on them before they could maneuver the cargo into the elevator.

This was where the members of Overwatch got their equipment. Torbjörn, the quartermaster of Overwatch, constantly worked on improving the tools his comrades used during battle or simply kept them stored and maintained for them. His domain was a large underground area, divided into various different sections. The first section, nearest to the elevator, was almost like a gun shop. It was fronted by a counter, where the agents of Overwatch could give Torbjörn their equipment and pick it up again once he was done with it. Behind the counter, there was a large storage area with shelves that overflowed with unidentifiable parts, pieces and tools, there were shadowboxes containing probably millions of tiny parts like screws and bolts, and, of course, there were also more steel cabinets than anyone would have cared to count, probably also filled to the brim with whatever it was their owner put inside. If there was a system behind the storage space, Amélie didn't immediately recognize it. It was more likely to be chaotic storage anyway.  

The wall to the right side had a pretty large double door in it, leading into the workshop. It was the place the Swedish dwarf used to come up with his ingenious ideas and constructions. Just as expected, it was properly messy, too. Spare parts and pieces were laying around everywhere, halfway finished projects collected dust and multiple machines were apparently used to salvage them for components. At least, that was the impression Widowmaker got from glancing through the door. The scents of machine oil and cuttings were rather prominent in the air, but interestingly enough, not really bothersome. It fit the whole scenario perfectly.

The door to the left side led into the shooting range. A large sign, warning that firearms were being used, was posted on the door, reading that the door had to be kept shut at all times. Even with that being the case , the closed door  did little to completely muffle the rhythmic banging sound of people using the range. The entire facility was meant as a testing area where either Torbjörn tried out his inventions himself or the agents could see what changes the gunsmith made to their equipment.

From the sound of it, some serious testing was going on.

Amélie quickly spotted a familiar face but was far from overjoyed to see this individual again. He had kept his distance since they had come back from Diskon, but Widowmaker wasn't stupid. The cowboy surely had been watching.

There was McCree, apparently collecting a whole stack of bullet-boxes. He was leaning on the counter like they were in a wild-west saloon, casually feeding the sliver tubes into his trusty six-shooter. One after another, they went in with such well practiced carelessness that it almost seemed as if he was returning deposit bottles at the vending machine of the local beverage store.

"Howdy!" McCree greeted as he noticed his cyborg friend approaching. "Widowmaker," he also acknowledged Genji’s companion with a level voice. He wasn't outright hostile toward the former Talon assassin anymore. She was relatively certain that he still hated her, but Jesse was professional enough to accept that the former assassin was meant to stay. Morrison made this clear and the commander always had the final word. McCree didn't see a reason to cause trouble as long as she didn't start any. He would be ready for it, however. The time would come, he was certain.

"Jesse," Genji said with a polite nod.

" _Salut,_ " Widow waved. She had to admit that, of all the members of Overwatch she had met so far -and of course apart from Angela and Lena- Genji was actually not so bad. He was calm and didn't talk when it wasn't necessary, which was great. That said, Torbjörn also seemed like a decent person so far. Maybe a bit... not really rude, because he wasn't, but well... uncouth. McCree, on the other hand, she most likely wouldn't get along with ever unless some sort of cosmic miracle happened.

"Is the man of the house not at home?" Genji wanted to know. As an answer, McCree pointed over his shoulder toward the workshop.

"The dwarf is strapping new parts of armor to our glorious knight. He should be back in a-" Jesse was abruptly interrupted by a loud metallic rattling and someone cursing in a foreign language that Widowmaker identified as Swedish followed by someone apologizing.

"It's fine, it's fine you big klutz. Get out of here. Sometimes I really wonder if all that armor slows your brain down." The grumpy voice of Torbjörn was getting closer.

" _Ja_ , and I sometimes wonder if your height is why you're always in such a bad mood. I apologized. There are no eyes at the back of my head!" was the loud reply from someone else following close behind Torbjörn.

A moment later, both appeared in the room Genji, Widow and McCree were in. Reinhardt slammed his fist to his chest as if he was checking the proper fit of the armor he was wearing.

"I'm in a bad mood because I have to waste my day talking to idiots," Torbjörn muttered, noticing the two newcomers in his domain. "Ahh, if that isn't our science project and it's evil counterpart. Didn't think I'd see you two down here," he laughed as he got behind his counter. There must have been some steps and some kind of platform behind it because there was no way the dwarf would have been able to stick his head above the counter even if he tiptoed.

Reinhardt had suddenly stopped moving and just stared at Amélie who in turn glared back with an ice-cold expression. People were always staring. Wherever she went, eyes were upon her. In the past, she didn't give a damn about that; her contact with civilians was rare at best. But here, at the Watchpoint, it was starting to really get on her nerves. It was annoying. She didn't want to be bothered with the opinions of people she did not care about.

"So, you are Widowmaker," Reinhardt said finally, taking in the presence of the woman standing in front of him. She was nothing like the elegant, charismatic lady he once knew as Amélie Lacroix. And yet, Lady Lacroix and Widowmaker were so similar: cruel, cold and manipulative. The old discussion about Gerard came to mind, but he knew what he saw. He knew the real Amélie - or so he thought. A wave of hatred washed over Rein as he was painfully reminded of what that _monster_ did to his wife. But it was immediately followed by a wave of sour regret. _What if it's true? Angela had been so insistent. Torb was too._ It was all a big mess. In the back of his head Reinhardt knew they would have to talk one day. One day, but not now. It was too soon.

" _Non._ My name is _Amélie_." she replied coolly, returning his gaze unwavering. Despite Reinhardt easily being twice her height, she was not intimidated. She caught herself subconsciously searching for weak spots in his armor and found plenty where she could strike. He might have been large, but she was fast, nimble and fatally accurate.

"There is not much difference between the two," Reinhardt grumbled, the years of contempt dripping off his voice like venom. "You have always been a cruel bitch."

Just when Amélie was about to insistently inquire what exactly the knight wanted to express, a thumbscrew flew across the workshop and hit Reinhardt on the forehead with a light plopping sound.

"Rein, if you have a problem with her, you will not discuss it in my workshop! Or at all, for that matter. If we have that kind of talk one day it is going to be with the Doc and me present, got that?" Torbjörn stated, clapping his hands together before tossing some stuff from the counter into a box.

Reinhardt sighed heavily, knowing that he didn't stand a chance against his stubborn friend. "I promised Angela I'd give her one chance, but-"

"Stop it right there. Give her the chance she deserves then," Torbjörn interrupted. "Let's talk about something else and not dig around in poor Amélie's past all the time."

"I'm standing right here. You do realize that, _oui_? I can hear you?" Widow sneered. She was getting fed up with all the people around her who apparently knew _way_ more about her own past than she did, herself. She had heard so many references to her past -her husband, her story and everything since she arrived at the Watchpoint- she couldn't stand it anymore. Either everyone was going to shut up really soon or someone was going to give her a straight answer to a simple question. What the hell happened between her and Gerard?

"That you are," Genji said, not really in fond of talking about someone in their presence either. "But that topic is better saved for another day among people who know more. Right now, you are here because of the bet."

"Ahhh! The bet! Great idea," Torb cheered, happy that the topic of the conversation changed and also looking forward to finding out the answer to the topic of heated discussions among the Watchpoint's personal. "I hope you all know that the Doc will kill us all for this should she find out, but this needs to be done. That goes for you too, Amélie."

"Me? Why?"

"Because we all know you are good friends with our good doctor. Don't you sell us out to her."

"I make no such promises," she replied, slightly irritated.

"Well, can't do anything against that now. We have to do this, for science, I guess. Let me get her stuff and you all go to the shooting-range already."

"I won't stick around to see this," Reinhardt announced "You all know what I think the results will look like. There is no way that _woman_ can beat the current record. I have somewhere else to be right now. It is of grave importance!" And with that, he entered the elevator and was quickly gone.

"Well, I think we all can do without his foul mood. Don't worry _mitt barn_ , he will come along." Torbjörn shrugged and smiled warmly at Amélie, who really didn't know what to do with his gesture. "Let me get everything we need."

Widowmaker wasn't sure what exactly was going on, and she really didn't like the entire setup here, either. The thought that maybe this was not as friendly as she initially assumed crossed her mind. They were in the basement, after all. But the one with the foulest mood did leave, so it couldn't be bad, right? Yeah, she was no fool. Letting her guard down now would have been a mistake. That people were a bit friendlier than usual meant nothing. Lena wasn't here, and Angela apparently should never know about this. 

"What are you doing?" she asked, subconsciously getting into a defensive stance. "I would really like to know what is going on. Right now, if you please." Her voice was tense and she stepped slightly behind McCree, so she could grab him and either choke him to death or break his neck should worse come to worst.

"At least you now ask first and shoot later," McCree laughed, turning around to face Widowmaker and then leaning against the counter again, like the relaxed cowboy he usually was. "You see, there has been some disagreement between a few of us concerning your marksmanship. Reinhardt, for one, is convinced that you can’t beat the current record holder, whereas Lena has insisted you would easily beat it. Come to think of it, she is very supportive and defensive of you whenever she gets the chance. Maybe she's into you. That would be just like the damn dimwit."

"What did you just call her?" Amélie hissed, giving Jesse a piercing stare, and McCree actually took a step back, raising his hands in defense.

"Nothing, nothing. Jesus, you act like she's your lover. I was just trash talking. We wanted to have a shooting competition, if you are woman enough to step up and prove your skill, that is."

"Wait, is this about target practice? For points?" Amélie asked in disbelief, relaxing her stance.

"Of course, what were you thinking? That we'd beat you up down here? I think Reinhardt wouldn't have left if we were gonna," Jesse said with a shrug.

"No shit-talking in my workshop, cowboy!" Torbjörn admonished. "You think you still know how to hold a gun?"

"Please. I'm offended." Widow snorted.

"We'll find out soon enough. I'm getting your rifle."

Widowmaker felt an invisible string pulling her lips upward into a wicked grin as she walked into the shooting range. A lot of people were in there, just as the loud noises would have indicated. For the first time, Amélie wasn't bothered by everyone staring. She would show them what a _real_ marksman was capable of pulling off. After a brief explanation that this shooting range was specifically built to simulate any desired distance along with any other environmentally reasonable influence, she took her trusted rifle from Torbjörn into her hands. The alloys it was made of were immediately melting into her hands like they were made for each other. The weapon morphed into sniper configuration, and Amélie's eagle-eye peered through the scope.

"I would take my bow against your rife any day," a voice with a prominent accent said from her side. Widow looked up again and saw an Asian man with a neatly trimmed beard that was slowly starting to show signs of greying. He was holding a composite bow and an elaborate looking arrow. Amélie gave him a quick once-over.

"That would be the last mistake you ever made," she replied with an air of superiority.

"Let her show how well she does, brother, before you judge her. If what is said holds true, her skills are formidable," Genji said.

"Ha!" Hanzo exclaimed. "Rumors are hardly anything to go by. Though I must admit, I have heard many stories about your work," he said with such confidence that it was as though he was the heir to a great Japanese clan. Which he was. But Widow didn't know that, nor did she really care.

"See, he ain’t sure of her, either. Told y’all to wait and see. I like you, friend. Name's Jesse McCree."

"Shimada. Hanzo Shimada," the bowman replied, and Widowmaker glanced at Torbjörn, who was rolling his eyes.

" _Oui, oui._ Very nice. You want a _caf_ _é_ too? Or are we going to do what we came here for?"

McCree laughed. "Do your thing, lassie. We'll be watching."

"Give me 600 meters, _s'il vous plaît._ We'll go up from there."

-/-

The wheelchair was causing the gravel underneath it to make muted crunching noises as Reinhardt pushed it in front of him. He didn't know that he was heading toward the exact same bench Angela, Lena and Amélie had been talking on some days prior.

Maybe twenty minutes before, he finally did what Mercy had urged him to do on the day he had last visited Fareeha. She was still in a coma back then. She wasn't anymore. His heart was heavy and conflicted when he walked into the infirmary, not knowing what he should say and certainly not knowing what he should do. He was breaking a promise. But Angela was right about this. Fareeha deserved to know. It had been too long. Ana was dead; she wouldn't be coming back. It wasn't right to not tell Fareeha. Damn Mercy with her logic all the time.

His little encounter with Widowmaker prior to going to the infirmary today wasn't really doing his mood any favors, but he had his mind set on it. He had walked into the infirmary, finding Dr. Ziegler gone. Slightly confused, he found Fareeha in one of the sickbeds, reading a magazine of some sort. It turned out to be a weapons catalogue. Without much ado, he had fetched a wheelchair, telling the nurse present to shut it and leave before he went to Fareeha's bed. She asked what was going on, but Reinhardt didn't say a word and effortlessly lifted the young woman out of the bed. She had shrieked adorably but then watched curiously as Reinhardt carefully fixed the belts on the wheelchair so the woman sitting inside wouldn't fall out of it.

They hadn't spoken since, Fareeha apparently accepting that there was something to either see or talk about later. Still, that didn't mean she necessarily liked the silence. Reinhardt was her idol, her hero and her role model all at once. She never really got to know him, and yet he had always felt very familiar, like they had some kind of connection. Her mother always told her that was the stupid imagination of a young girl, but the feeling never went away.

"You know," Fareeha started, actually starting to enjoy being pushed down the small walkway they were on. The weather was finally sunny and reasonably warm again, despite the air still being a little humid from all the rain in the past days. "I had a poster of you on my wall when I was a child," she said with a beaming smile on her lips, remembering her most precious possession at the time.

"I remember the poster!" Reinhardt sounded excited for some reason. "My hair looked amazing!" he laughed contagiously. 

"It did, right?" Fareeha joined. "Was it always like that? Or just for the photo shoot?"

"It always was. Especially during times of glorious battle!" he boasted.

Fareeha smiled fondly before a thought crossed her mind. She didn't know why, but she had voiced it before she had even thought about it. "My mother hated it."

"Hated what?" Reinhardt inquired with a strange edge in his voice

"The poster," Fareeha clarified. "Always wanted me to take it down."

"I see," was all Reinhardt replied until they arrived at the exact same bench that was also used by Mercy, Widowmaker and Tracer. Reinhardt parked Fareeha's wheelchair next to the bench and made sure the breaks were correctly secured before sitting down next to her. His overly large body looked ridiculous on the comparatively tiny bench.

Yet again, there was silence between the two, the only noise being the ocean rhythmically washing ashore in the distance. Just when Fareeha wanted to ask what all this was about, Reinhardt beat her to it. "There is something I need to tell you. I promised your mother I never would, but it needs to be said. You deserve to know."

"Ha. I like it already." Fareeha said dryly. She didn't get along with her mother. She never understood the woman either. The rational part of her realized that it may have been because she was still too young, , but it didn't help. Her mother was gone and what was left were the bad memories of neglect and 'more important things' her mom constantly had to do. What could possibly be more important than your own daughter? A lot of things, apparently. ’Duty first’ was in the Amaris’ bloodline,it was like the family's credo. Fareeha grew up to be little different. But she had always promised herself that, should the time one day come, she would always put her family first. _Could be difficult considering who I am crushing on..._

"It is about your father," Reinhardt said with small voice, his resolve quickly fading away. Was this right? Should he do this? He gave a _promise_ to Ana, the woman he loved more than anyone in the world. He was honor-bound to make good on that promise. But those were different times--different circumstances, which drove them apart, reasons no longer valid, reasons that forced them into hiding what they shared. The crusader program was a thing of the past, it's rules and those who enforced no longer active, and Ana was dead.

"I like it even more now!" Fareeha's eyes lit up with such pure excitement that Reinhardt had to fight the tears quelling up in his eyes. His heavy heart was aching at the thoughts of what he missed because of what they thought was the only way. He wasn't there to see her grow up into the wonderful woman she was now. Ana didn't allow it. It was wrong. Fareeha’s eyes and smile told him everything he needed to know and more.

He reached for her hand, taking it into his, despite knowing that her nerves still hadn't fully recovered. He was careful to not hold her too tightly.

His voice was quivering a little bit when he said what he promised would be left unspoken. "Your father, Fareeha, was a coward. He and your mother did something they weren't allowed and they were afraid of the consequences. He left your life before you were born for foolish reasons. Reasons your mother and he agreed on when they learned that she was with child. They justified this to themselves by saying it was for your protection and safety. But it was cowardice." He inhaled sharply, looking at the quizzical expression Pharah was giving him.

-/-

_ Flashback _ _: 33 years ago, Germany, Eichenwalde, Crusader headquarters:_

_"You wanted to see me, your eminence?" Reinhardt asked as he entered the meeting room behind the throne's chamber inside castle Eichenwalde. Despite being ancient, the old fort was perfect as a base of operations for the crusaders, and not just because it was fitting to their style._

_Three people were already present. The commander of the Crusaders, Balderich von Adler, wearing  his glorious golden armor, was the one who stood out the most. Just like Reinhardt himself, the man towered over everyone else, his impressive stature only amplified by his glorious armor._

_Standing next to Balderich and clad in crimson silk and velvet was cardinal Enrico Maxwell, his posture as arrogant as always. The cardinal was absolutely certain that God was standing behind him, shining his divine light on Maxwell’s mortal form. The cardinal’s face was slim, and his eyes, not hiding a tad of lunacy, were well inside his skull. His skin was grey and leathery on his bony hands and arms. The cardinal was here because the whole Crusader program, despite being a German military project, was funded by the Holy Church. Or more accurately, their top-secret special operations division was. Sector XIII was the official unofficial name, but everyone who knew about its existence called it the Iscariot Organization. The same people responsible for burning witches and for the crusades. They were religious extremists who believed that the existence of AI was pure blasphemy and that it had to be wiped off the face of earth. Needless to say, their power grew rapidly during the horrors of the Omnic wars when AI-controlled machines were slaughtering innocent civilians by the millions. The Iscariot Organization was more than willing to do anything to get rid of AI, even aid in the creation of supposedly sterile, genetically modified super-soldiers for the Crusader program. The holy church had vast resources at their disposal, which they threw at Iscariot to contain the whole chaos that was the first Omnic crisis. Cardinal Enrico Maxwell was the head of Iscariot and was also the one personally overseeing the Crusader program. Officially, his role was purely advisory, but he was also in charge of managing the troops, their training and their deployment._

_The third person in attendance was a woman. She had dark black hair that reached almost down to her hips and light chocolate skin. Clad in a blue trench coat, worn over her light body armor, and a blue beret, she was sitting on the edge of the table with one leg, the other one still firmly on the ground. There was a prominent Overwatch insignia on her coat's shoulder, and she had a tattoo under her left eye. Ana Amari was the liaison officer from Overwatch; she coordinated the joint efforts of the Crusaders and the world's peacekeepers. She had been here for well over a year and was well-received by the troops as well as the higher ups, accepted by the former for her exceptional skills as a warrior and valued by the latter for her diplomatic talents. Everyone liked her. The soldiers especially fancied her unparalleled exotic beauty, despite relationships or any kind of affairs being strictly forbidden by the church._

_Reinhardt glanced quickly at her, but she didn't acknowledge him past a professional nod. She never did when they weren't alone._

_"I still fail to see why I should agree to this. You are a bunch of nonbelievers. And you, Miss Amari, I don't even want to know which gods you follow."_

_"And it doesn't matter either, your eminence," Ana replied with her best diplomatic voice._ _"I am informing you of this purely out of courtesy. The exchange was requested via formal routes by Commander Morrison and was approved by German high command. Must I remind you that this operation is only partly under command of the church? Lord von Adler has approved of my choice, which settles things in my eyes."_

_"Adler is under the command of the Iscariot Organization, the holy church and subsequently me," Maxwell insisted._

_"Your eminence," Adler spoke up, his voice deep and raspy, "We should not needlessly complicate things. The exchange is a good idea, for it will bolster morale and faith all around the world. The absence of one of the crusaders is hardly going to have an impact on the war. Besides, Captain Amari is right. High Command has given us their orders. And they are righteous orders; don't forget that."_

_"Sir? May I ask what this is about?" Reinhardt spoke up, not sure what was going on._

_"My son, you have been chosen for an exchange program. This infidel woman is taking you away to Overwatch, out of the glory of God's righteous army. I cannot believe this is happening. Balderich, you and I will have a serious talk about this... insubordination of yours," the cardinal declared. He then stormed off, leaving a baffled Reinhardt, an annoyed von Adler and a heavily sighing Captain Amari behind._

_"I better see to it that he doesn't start a suicide mission in his anger. Have fun in Gibraltar, Rein. I wish I could go with you, enjoy beaches, beer and bitc- sunshine, but I can't. Instead I'm sending my best." Balderich shrugged, walking past Reinhardt, before turning around toward Ana. "M'Lady. A pleasant day," Adler said, and he was gone._

_"Mind filling me in on what's going on?" Reinhardt turned to Ana, who had gotten up from the table and was walking toward an exit on the other side of the room._

_"Take a walk with me, will you, muscles?" she said, leading the way, and Reinhardt followed without a question. Their walk was a long and silent one, leading them out of the complex structures of the castle, through some secret passages and out into the open._

_Soon, they were deep in the forest surrounding castle Eichenwalde, at their usual spot. They had discovered this, their own small piece of Eden, a long time ago when they searched for a place to be alone. It was a small clearing in the forest. A beck flowed through it, and the birds were always singing beautifully. They set up a small bench here months ago so they wouldn't have to sit on the soft moss all day long. Now, Ana was sitting in Reinhardt's lap, the sun shining down on the two of them._

_"You have been awfully quiet,_ meine Blume _. What is bothering you?" Reinhardt asked, leaning back on the bench in the woods, enjoying the feeling of his secret fiancée snuggled up against his chest. They couldn't share a ring or anything, but their oath to each other, given three months ago, was still valid in their eyes._

_"We have a huge problem," she said suddenly "A huge. Fucking. Problem."_

_"Oh?" Reinhardt frowned. "Did someone find out about us? I can deal with Maxwell, you know? Forbidden love my ass. Ha! He can have a taste of my hammer!"_

_"No. In comparison, that would be a minor inconvenience. Maxwell is an annoying pest, but that would be solvable." She said._

_"Then what troubles thine mind, my fair maiden?" Reinhardt said, hoping that what usually cheered Ana up would work again. It didn't._

_"How long has Iscariot tried to create a second generation of super-soldiers now? Ever since someone stole the formula and killed the head scientists? That was what? Ten years ago?"_

_"Ja. But they didn't get far. Only failures so far." Reinhardt chuckled. "Guess they regret not removing the side effect of the transformation that makes us sterile now." he couldn't help but laugh at the irony. It was deemed_ unimportant _at the start of the program. Iscariot even managed to twist it into something positive. A true warrior knows neither love nor family. His mind is filled with thoughts about battle and prayers to the lord._

_"Yes, except that you aren't sterile," Ana said plainly._

_Reinhardt blinked. A second time. And again._

_Impossible._

_Confusion must have been written all over the knight's face._

_"I'm pregnant, Rein." Ana clarified with a deadpan expression "And no, I did_ not _sleep with anyone but you. It_ is _yours."_

_Reinhardt was silent for what felt like an hour in which he tried to comprehend what was just told to him. Ana was pregnant. She was having his child. They would have a kid. A true family._

_"That is_ wunderbar! _" he cheered happily, jumping up from the bench and tossing Ana in the air, catching her and whirling her around once before sitting down again._

_Ana looked at him with a mix of happiness and regret._

_"I know you are happy," she said. "But it isn't wonderful. Not one bit. Think this through first. Do you have any idea what will happen should anyone ever find out whose child it is? What do you think Iscariot will do? Not only to you, but to the child? We are in deep, deep trouble. You think they would just see us off to maternity leave? Only three out of every ten people subjected to the genetic reprogramming survived the procedure; they didn't care. Do you think they would care about our child?"_

_"_ Scheiße, _" Reinhardt said, realizing that Ana was right. Of course she was; that was kind of her thing, being right. Iscariot would take the child away and use it to create a second wave of super soldiers with little to no concern for the kid’s well-being. Their unborn child was in grave danger._

_"That is why I sent you to Gibraltar. Everything is prepared there for your arrival. Morrison knows; we can trust him. He will help you. I will have to go for some time and take care of everything else. You will leave first thing tomorrow."_

_"Ana..." Reinhardt began seriously. "With taking care of everything, you surely don't mean..." he didn't dare to speak further._

_"To abort the child?" Sorrow appeared on her face as she touched Reinhard's cheek with her warm hand. "Of course not! Are you crazy?! I want her just as much as you do! And I want her to live a happy, normal life far away from all this madness. But my love..." Ana looked at Reinhardt with a broken expression, the guilt of what she knew had to be done breaking her soul in half, "... that means she can never know who her father is. No one can ever find out. We have to think about something if this is going to work, and we have to do so fast. We'll have to separate, and I need to quickly find another partner for a while, someone I can claim is the father should need be."_

_"Ana..."_

_"No!" there were tears in Amari's eyes "Don't make this more difficult now, Rein! You want your child to live, don't you?" she almost screamed, her own desperation getting the better of her. Iscariot was powerful and their spies where everywhere. She didn't want to attack Reinhardt like this, but it was the only way she could cope with the pain in her chest, the desperation and the knowledge that the family they could have had would never be possible._

_"Of course," Rein said mutedly._

_"Then swear to me that you will never try to contact her. Never ever try to find out who she is. I love you, but... if we want our child to have a chance at a normal life... if we want our legacy to grow up like any other child... we can never see each other again. I have to take care of all the necessary preparations. Backstories and papers and..." she stopped "Spirits, I am so sorry! I don't want to leave you, but it is our only damn option. If Iscariot finds out about us... and soon my pregnancy will be showing! I can't..."_

_"You have nothing to apologize for," he said bitterly, trying to be strong. It needed to be done. His head knew this: Iscariot was too dangerous, the risk too high and the times too desperate. But his heart still broke in this moment._

_"I love you, Reinhardt. You know I do. And I will be your wife for the rest of my life. Even if we can't be together."_

_The next morning Reinhardt was on a shuttle. Ana wasn't there to see him off._

_The first time he saw his daughter was when Mercy called him into the infirmary to extract stem cells off his body. This day, he found out her name. Fareeha. She was having a horrible fever, but Angela refused to tell him more._

_-/-_

"God knows we were in panic. It was a hasty decision, Ana disappeared for years after that, and when she came back again, she wouldn't look me in the eyes anymore. And I couldn't either. At the time, Iscariot, the organization we tried to protect you from, was long dissolved. They were evil, Fareeha. Properly evil and the world realized this soon enough. The Apostolic See excommunicated them all a few years after the Omnic war ended, most of its members were imprisoned, some even executed. We were cowards." He inhaled sharply. "I was a coward. I should have protested when I had the chance, but I didn't."

"Reinhardt?" Fareeha perked up an eyebrow, but the German soldier just went on.

"I'm breaking the promise I gave to your mother all those years ago now. Fareeha, I am your father. I'm so sorry I couldn't tell you sooner. There was so much guilt, so many broken hopes and dreams between your mother and me, and so much self-hatred. I couldn't bring myself to tell you, and your mother... we couldn't look each other in the eyes anymore. We were ashamed for what we did. I was. And when things were slowly getting better, Ana was killed by our new guest..." Reinhardt stopped, letting go of his daughter’s hand, waiting for her to show some reaction. Any reaction.

"I don't expect you to forgive me anytime soon. Or at all. But I want you to know. You deserve to know what happened, why it happened... and who I am. I should have told you years ago, but I always valued my promises. Stupid."

"So that was all my mother's idea?" Fareeha blurted, 

Reinhardt answered, "We agreed on it. Our reasons were stupid; I realize that now. But we were scared, your mother and I, not only for our safety, but most of all for yours. We wanted you to have a normal life."

"A normal life?" Fareeha laughed painfully. "Yeah, what a normal life that was. Being neglected by my mother, not knowing my own father."

"I am so very sorry." Reinhardt said, sounding broken.

"Why were you not allowed to have a wife?"

"The church didn't allow it. Their rules said so."

"So you are a priest and a warrior?"

"No. Just a warrior. I used to live under a very strict codex. Parts of which I still value today. Not all was bad."

"And you are also my father?" she asked, looking him dead in the eyes.

"Yes. I am."

A long moment passed before Pharah smiled faintly, turning to look over the endless ocean in front of her.

"I know." She stated. Reinhardt was too stunned to say anything. "I think I always knew. There was this connection I felt toward you. It's strange to describe. But it makes a lot more sense now. This is good, I... well, I like the idea."

"I expected you to be very mad with me," Reinhardt admitted.

"No." Fareeha sighed "I don't think it's your fault. You did what my mother wanted. Everyone always did what she wanted. Her and her stupid games. She told me my father was dead, you know? That he was just some grunt she slept with one night and that he was KIA."

"Oh..." Reinhardt slouched his shoulders, looking defeated.

"Yeah. I'm just glad I get to know you, _'abi_ " she said and was happy. Her father was right in front of her ever since she had joined Overwatch.

Fareeha was happy.

-/-

Meanwhile, happiness wasn't exactly the most fitting word for Dr. Ziegler's mood. She was not happy. She was frustrated and close to outraged, a combination she experienced _very_ rarely. Angela was, in fact, almost frustrated enough to simply ask Athena where Widowmaker had vanished off to. _Almost._ There was one place she would check before she would take this measure of invasion into someone's privacy.

If she wasn't there, and Mercy highly doubted she would be, then she would ask the Watchpoint's artificial intelligence for her aid. The doctor pressed the button of the elevator and stepped inside, waiting for it to carry her down into the basement.

After some moments of waiting, the doors opened again, the distinctive _Bing_ typical of all elevators informing the occupants of the arrival at their desired floor sounding. The first thing Mercy noticed was that Torbjörn's workshop was completely empty. It was _never_ completely empty. There was always someone who came to pick up new tech or who brought something that needed to be repaired.

But not today, apparently.

Mercy was about to turn around again and leave, when a gunshot boomed through the workshop.

Then, there was another one, followed by a third in rapid succession. It wasn't just any gunshot, either. Despite having heard that particular sound only once in her life before, Mercy knew immediately to which infamous weapon it belonged. Widowmaker's rifle. She heard it being fired during the escape in Diskon; it wasn't a sound she would quickly forget. Back then, the bullet was meant to take out McCree, who Widow thought would hurt Angela.

Mercy turned back on her heels again and stormed toward the shooting range. Yanking the door open, she found the reason why the workshop appeared empty. The shooting range was crowded with people watching something really interesting. Angela pushed people out of her way to get to the focus of everyone's attention. With a little distance from everyone else, there were Genji, McCree, and Torbjörn. They were standing around Amélie, who was just getting up from the floor, her rifle retracting into a more compact form.

"It would appear taking my bow against your rifle would, indeed, have been my last mistake," Hanzo said with a straight face, like he didn't really believe his own words.

"Let's not jump to conclusions just yet, shall we?" McCree adjusted his weathered hat, while  Torbjörn was reading something off from a datapad.

"Well boys," he shrugged, "it seems we are all proven wrong. 5400 meters, three shots, three hits in a little over two seconds. She beat the Captain. You owe me 50 bucks, McCree."

"I call bullshit," McCree exclaimed, snatching the datapad from Torbjörn to read it himself, while Hanzo looked over his shoulder with a superior smirk on his small lips. "Well, I'll be damned."

Widowmaker just chuckled, deeply satisfied with the result, as she turned around. "I told you, cowboy, I don't miss. It's--" She froze in place with her eyes wide open, just like a little kid who got caught with the hand in the cookie jar. Amélie realized now why everyone was saying that the good doctor must never find out. The expression on her face was _not_ amused. "Angela," Widow stated, the look of surprise quickly replaced by slight irritation due to the doctor's sudden presence. This was the second time that Mercy miraculously managed to sneak up on her. How did she do that all the time? To be fair, the first time, Widow had been in bed with her lover and rather concentrated on _something else._

"Someone care to explain what's going on?" Dr. Ziegler asked, crossing her arms over her chest. The moment she made her presence known to the spectators, she had the undivided attention of everyone in the shooting range.

An awkward moment of dead silence passed.

"Err, you see, doc," McCree started. "We were thinking that..." he tried, but his brain didn't come up with anything useable. He quickly looked at Torbjörn, hoping for support.

"Yes, you see, I was wondering if maybe I could make some improvements to Widowmaker's rifle, but..." There, he also ran out of ideas, but Genji was there to at least try and save the already completely unbelievable story.

"But it didn't seem right to proceed with modifying someone else's property without their permission. Thus, we decided to involve the owner of the weapon in the process. Err...."

"What Genji wants to say is that the project is still young. We only started testing." Torbjörn finished, McCree nodding supportively.

Inwardly Mercy was sighing like never before. Why were her friends such morons? "I see. So you wouldn't mind telling me when you asked Amélie to help you with this? I can't remember anyone of you showing up in the infirmary."

Silence and awkward faces were all the doctor got as a reply.

Rolling her eyes she addressed the other person involved in all this. "Amélie?" she asked.

"They wanted to know if I could beat the previous record holder in distance shots. Apparently they made bets about it, I don't know. I'm just pulling the trigger again," she replied with a careless shrug. She couldn't have cared less if she got someone into trouble by telling the truth; she had no reason to cover anyone of them.

"Traitor," McCree muttered under his breath.

The fury was written all over Mercy's features. She was seething. Despite her usually calm temper and kind attitude toward everyone, Dr. Ziegler didn't take kindly to anyone getting one of her patients into trouble. No one wanted to be at the receiving end of her accusations when Mercy decided someone had overstepped a boundary. Now was apparently such a case, it showed clearly on her face. "Let me ask you, do you think it is adequate behavior for Overwatch agents and what I thought were men of honor to take advantage of a friend and patient like this?" she asked completely calmly. It made her even scarier. "By now you all know more than enough about Amélie to come to an educated decision. Yet your own stupid, childish curiosity managed to get the better of you, didn't it? You just had to bring her down here and let her shoot stuff. Did you at least ask if she even _wanted_ to do this? Or did you just assume?"

Silence.

"I didn't object." Widowmaker replied. "I might have enjoyed the idea of a bit of... action." She said the last word almost with shame.

"Not objecting isn't agreeing, Amélie," Mercy sighed, shaking her head. "This isn't Talon where you aren't left with another choice." She reached out, took Widowmaker's rifle out of her hands and tossed it at Torbjörn before grabbing the French assassin's hand and dragging her off.

"You all might want to get your priorities straight. Getting her into trouble like that. And I'm not talking trouble from Morrison, but psychological trouble. What would you have done if she had reacted badly to the weapon, did you have a plan for that? You all know what Talon did to her; what if a hidden trigger had kicked in? And I swear to god, Jesse, if you pull your sixshooter as an answer now, I will make you swallow it. You bunch of idiots. What were you thinking?" Angela said loudly as she left the shooting range, not giving her friends the opportunity to reply to anything. Mercy didn't speak up until they were back inside the elevator again.

"Are you fine? Do you feel weird or is there anything you'd consider out of place?"

"I'm fine."

 "All good? Did you experience some kind of rush during the shooting? Any kind of anger?"

"I'm fine, Angela. Thank you. It was nothing, really. Actually, it was kind of fun, to be honest," Widow said, a little ashamed. "Maybe I shouldn't have left without a word."

"You were bored, weren't you?" Mercy asked. "That's why you snuck out."

"You aren't mad?"

" _Nein_. I thought you'd run off sooner or later. Or at least try. I just thought I'd notice it sooner."

"Well, I'm the world's deadliest assassin for a reason," Amélie replied with a shrug, glancing briefly at Mercy. The doctor was worried for her; so much was obvious by now. "Besides... I needed to think about a few affairs."

"Oh? Like what?" Angela asked.

"Where I want to go from now on. What I want to do."

"I see." Angela said. "Anything you want to share with me?"

"I'd rather discuss this with Lena first," Widow replied.

The doctor smiled apologetically, feeling like she had intruded on something very private and personal, something that didn't concern her in the slightest. "Of course,"  she said.

"Doctor?"

"Mh?"

"You can let go of my hand now." Amélie said dryly. Mercy looked down at her hand, only now realizing that she had been holding Widow's in her own the entire time. She blushed a deep shade of red and immediately let go of the other woman.

" _Entschuldigung,_ " she managed, shoving her hand into the pocket of her white coat. Her mind quickly tried to find something to change the topic just to avoid awkward silence and proceed with talking about literally anything else.

"You know, if you're ever bored again, just tell me. I'm sure the two of us can come up with something to keep you busy. Something which doesn't involve rifles and still keeps you entertained," Mercy said, still sounding embarrassed. Widow smirked. She couldn't resist. It was too great an opportunity to let pass. She stepped a closer to Angela, so close she was almost touching the doctor's shoulder with her chest.

"That sounds like something Lena would say on... certain occasions." Widow basically purred that last part into Angela's ear, causing her to blush even more fiercely. Amélie was observing the wonderful reaction with the very definition of a smug grin on her lips. "I thought you weren't into girls. And I'm taken. How rude of you, Doctor Ziegler." She hummed, letting a hand run down Mercy's back, just to tease her further.

"N-Not that, y-you useless lesbian!" Angela squealed, surprised about the insult, herself.

Amélie took it with humor, laughing like she achieved some kind of personal goal. If that was making Mercy uncomfortable, the former assassin definitely got what she wanted. "This useless lesbian got you out of a lot of trouble, doctor," she stated with mocking dryness.

"I know that. Sorry, I really don't know where that came from, I didn't mean to-"

"You're cute when you're embarrassed, did you know that?" she said, backing off from Mercy and giving her some space. It was just teasing, after all.

"I... yeah... Lena told me as much before." Angela tried to catch her breath again.

"Of course she has." Amélie smirked as if she was up to no good, but apparently decided to not torment the poor doctor further. "So, am I in trouble?" she asked instead.

"For running off and breaking Morrison's rules? Nothing happened as far as I'm concerned. I don't think he has to know. Besides, Lena should be back soon. She is way better at keeping an eye on you," Angela replied, letting out a breath. Why was it apparently so enjoyable to wind her up? Damn, Amélie and Lena were almost too similar in that regard. They were both so good at it too; neither Tracer nor Widow needed more than a few words to get her completely flustered and blushing fiercely.

It wasn't fair.

They were always pushing the same buttons, insinuating things that _clearly_ weren't there. Dr. Ziegler wasn't into girls.

Clearly.

She never had been.

No doubt about it.

"Did you beat Ana's record?"

Widow gave her a look that said more than a thousand words. "Pff. Please." She said easily, before suddenly becoming very serious. A very much unwelcome thought suddenly appeared in her mind, spawning out of nowhere. "Is it true that I killed her? I don't remember..."

"Amélie, don't burden yourself with the past, you can't change it now. It makes no difference"

"Did I? I need to know."

Angela looked away and replied in a whisper.

"Yes..."

-/-

**Watchpoint Gibraltar, 0109 hours, private quarters of Commander Jack Morrison**

Jack had long given up on tormenting himself about this particular habit. He filled the glass in front of him halfway with some chap-ass whisky. Wasting a quick thought about how Lena would probably have his head for drinking this piss, he reminded himself of the evening he spent with the ever-cheerful Brit down in the bar an eternity ago. He knew he didn't handle his liquor well; the little adventure he had experienced when trying to keep up with a considerably smaller and supposedly inferior Tracer proved as much to him.

That didn't mean he didn't like it, though. The booze was bringing a heavy tiredness with it, followed by a dreamless, uninterrupted sleep. It was what he needed the most. If the circumstances were different, he would have asked Dr. Ziegler for help, but he couldn't--she would ask questions he had no answer for, she would inquire about details that he could not share, and she would worry about something he could not change. He could never explain why he had trouble falling asleep and why his nights were filled with nightmares. The ghosts of the past didn't leave him alone. So many lives. They all were lost because of him, people sent to their deaths because of his orders or murdered with his own hands. But he had no choice, Morrison knew; someone had to do it. That didn't mean his decisions didn't haunt him.

Visions of Mei visited him almost every night since he had shoved her off that balcony in her lab. He would give everything to forget her face despite knowing that it needed to be done. Jack was perfectly aware of this. She needed to go. Her death was critical for success. But that it needed to be done didn't mean it was easy. The environmentalist had been a friend of his for many, many years. She was someone he had trusted until he found out what kind of information she had been forwarding and to whom. Now, she was dead. Morrison dreaded the thought of how many more would follow.

A lot. No question.

He just hoped their game panned out the way they wanted it to. It was a long shot, he was aware. But it was the only option they had. And they were so close already. So close. Soon, this nightmare would come to an end, and Morrison would finally be able to retire. He could feel it in his bones; they were on the last stretch. Or maybe it was just the exhaustion slowly getting the better of him. He was tired, so very tired. Tired of fighting, tired of pretending and lying. It just wasn't right. In the beginning he didn't envy Reaper and the job he had to do, but he at least didn't have to lie his friends’ faces.

Not much longer and it would all be over, one way or the other. There wasn't a lot of time left. He really didn't need a reminder of that.

Elections of the new UN general secretary would be held soon, and, with them, the end of their mission would come--at least, if there was a change of the one in office, which seemed to be highly likely these days. Thiery Savant had somehow managed to gain massive support from the general public. But if he won that also meant that the mission would come to an end, should it not be done by then. At that point, pursuing the mission would be moot. Time would be up.

There was a deadline now.

He groaned, reaching for his glass and chugging the entirety of its content down in one gulp. The taste was bitter and cheap, but Morrison didn't care. He really didn't drink it for the taste; medicine never tasted good.

But this wasn't medicine. It was booze.

Still, to him, it was all the same.

Rubbing over his face tiredly, he left the glass on the counter and headed toward his bed. However, he would discover that his much awaited and highly desired sleep wasn't meant to be when the phone started ringing loudly, persistently demanding attention. Morrison reached for the device and put it to his ear.

"You have any idea how late it is?" Morrison yawned, feeling the effect of the alcohol on his empty stomach.

"Whatever," the voice on the other side growled. "I have something, and I swear to god, if I ever have to dig through that many files again, I will string someone up."

"You’ve done that plenty, already," Soldier: 76 deadpanned.

"Spoilsport. Anyway, here is what I found out. You remember when we talked about the mole we just had to have in Overwatch?"

"How could I forget? I've been going through the files over and over again, but I couldn't find a single problem. For a time I was actually looking at Ana Amari, but she turned up clean. Besides, she is dead. And Mei is already taken care of, so she can't leak anything anymore." Morrison sighed, again reminded of the Chinese environmentalist. She was the sole survivor of the tragedy in Antarctica. Being recovered a whole ten years after contact with the Ecopoint had been interrupted, the poor scientist was obviously having trouble getting back into society. Ten years of harsh winter, so bad and so brutal that no one managed to get through to the place. Or, at least, that was the official explanation. In reality, the place was simply forgotten after Overwatch was dissolved with the Petras Act. No one bothered to come and rescue the sole surviving inhabitant of the Ecopoint. It was a miracle the scientist was alive and kicking when someone eventually _did_ bother to see what was left of the long-forgotten outpost deep inside Antarctica. Her colleagues weren't this lucky; they all died in their cryo-chambers. "Don't tell me you know who did it?"

"No. Unfortunately nothing that concrete yet. I don't have a name. But I have found multiple references in Talon documents. Way too many to be a coincidence," Reaper said plainly. "And it clearly suggests that the current head of Talon and the mole we have been searching for must be the same person, it can't be any other way. The intelligence leaked from Overwatch never registered as having any kind of source; it was implemented directly into working orders."

"So if we figure out the mole, we will figure out who the head of Talon is." Morrison said, shaking his head. "Easier said than done, I guess. Anything else?"

"There’s something huge going on. Be on your guard, and have your people ready. That’s all I can tell you." Reaper sounded tense.

"You know more, don't you?"

"I do. But you don't need to know that now. It would only raise suspicion. You'll have to find out on your own."

"I hate when you do that."

"We are playing weird games, brother."

"That we are. Take care."

-/-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> "Are you still writing?"
> 
> -Yeah, one second
> 
> "Non. Take a break. You have been at it nonstop for hours now."
> 
> -I'm telling your story here, Amélie. I want it to do you justice.
> 
> "You can finish that after dinner. Come on now. I cooked for you"
> 
> -You did?
> 
> "Oui. I did."
> 
> Alrighty boys and girls. Seems like this has to be all for today. Thank you all for all the attention, the love and the reviews and favs. It means so much to me that you all seem to enjoy this story so much. *bows*
> 
> Special Thanks to the three Angels again, this time with an addition of another Beta-reader. Ihaveacoolname is now supporting the team and is doing a great job so far, I think. EhMattissimo has a lot to do these days and I want to take some pressure off him. He is such a great guy and doesn't deserve to have me on his back all the time because of beta-reading stuff.
> 
> Anywaaaay, that's it from me now, I guess?
> 
> "Hey, patate, are you coming now?"
> 
> Yep, I am so gone now.
> 
> See you around guys
> 
> o7
> 
> E82
> 
>  
> 
> Translations:
> 
> meine Blume = (German) my flower
> 
> 'abi = (Arabic) Father
> 
> mitt barn = (Swedish) My Child.
> 
> Entschuldigung = (German) Sorry!
> 
>  


	32. Skin contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last third of this chapter treats Sombra very, very badly. You have been warned.

**Airspace near the strait of Gibraltar, one day later, 1938 hours**

The Orca shook at unpredictable intervals, the shockwaves running through the entire shuttle, making everything that wasn't bolted down jump a little. While the metallic rattling sound was anything but encouraging, Tracer knew better than to feel any kind of worry, though; the flight’s unsteadiness was caused by minor turbulence typical for flying very close to the surface. She had to admit that it was a little weird not to fly the Orca herself, but that didn't mean the British ace pilot didn't feel the plane.

The current pilot kept the shuttle well below British radar surveillance, making sure no one would ask any unwanted questions about their approach toward the Watchpoint or even notice it in the first place.

Lena sighed, relieved, leaning back in her chair and stretching out her legs a little bit. She really couldn't wait to get back to the base after a mission well done. And it was well-done, a full success. The Bastion unit they were sent to secure was standing in the middle of the shuttle, the periodic turbulence not even bothering his advanced stabilizing systems, looking curiously at DVa's empty mech.

Hana, herself, wasn't feeling well at all—not one little bit. She _hated_ flying, and she _hated_ turbulence even more. The poor girl was literally green in her face, clinging to a bucket and periodically hurling into it, emptying what little was left in her stomach. Lena had been rubbing soothing circles on the younger girl’s back for a while, telling her that there was nothing to worry about and that the Orca wouldn't just break in half. It really didn't help Hana at all. She had just replied that she would believe Lena immediately if she were the one flying the shuttle and not the one sitting next to her.

Realizing that there was really nothing Lena could do for her friend, Lena got up and walked over to Bastion, who was still very curious about DVa’s mech. The Omnic tilted his head slightly, making an adorable beep. Lena had difficulties deciding who was cuter—the machine or its little bird-friend, whom they dubbed Ganymede for some reason.

"You really ain't the big scary killing bot we all feared to find. Such a bummer we had to get you out of that forest, you seemed to like it there." Lena smiled, and the robot made a series of longer and shorter beeps, looking at her for a moment before turning back toward the mech and poking the glass—which was supposed to shield the mech’s pilot—reaaaally carefully. It was adorable in an innocent way.

"Zen? What did he say?" Lena asked. She couldn't communicate with Bastion directly. While the marvelous machine seemed to understand her perfectly, Lena had no idea what the various beeps of different lengths and tone meant.

Neither did DVa, for that matter. Only Zenyatta, being a machine, himself, was able to communicate directly with Bastion. This was why their first contact a few days earlier was quite the experience. Yes, it took them days, which consisted of smuggling Bastion past German customs and into the Orca while the robot’s innocent curiosity threatened to inadvertently derail that little operation.

When they first encountered Bastion in the forest, Zenyatta had just left the team’s cover and simply approached the bot in what seemed like total suicide, but the Bastion didn't even bother with anything, really. It saw Zenyatta approaching and acknowledged the other Omnic’s presence before turning back to the river and watching Ganymede take a bath like it was the only important thing in the world. Zenyatta sat down next to the former combat robot and started talking to it. A few minutes passed before the monk gestured for Tracer and DVa to come closer. Bastion beeped for a few seconds. Tracer was confused. Hana had no idea what was going on. Zenyatta explained that the Robot was willing to come along but wanted to take his friend with him, the friend being Ganymede. Tracer laughed and said that wouldn't be a problem. A few hours later, they made their way back through the forest to the base camp they had set up. From there, Bastion was loaded into a container and, thereafter, a small truck that got them to a private airport in Switzerland. From there, they loaded Bastion into the Orca shuttle with a very surprised and perplexed pilot watching in disbelief. Admittedly, this really wasn't how Tracer imagined this mission, either, but far be it for her to start complaining about a smooth and successful job without any violence. It was a nice change of pace.

"He said that there is beauty in every place. He also said that he no longer wants to destroy. He thinks that only by watching others grow will he grow, himself."

"Our new friend is almost as wise as you are, Zenyatta," Tracer winked at the monk while Bastion made a noise that could have been the acoustic equivalent of blushing and quickly turned away. In doing so, his arm got stuck in one of DVa's control sticks, ripping the stick off. Luckily, the MEKA pilot had her face buried inside of her bucket, so she didn't notice Bastion falling into a hectic beeping-fit, quickly pick up the broken joystick, and immediately putting it back into its place—still broken. His other hand folded into his arm, and out came a small welding tool that he used to quickly reattach the module. He beeped rapidly all the while.

"It would seem he still has a lot to learn, though," Zenyatta remarked as calmly as ever. There was probably nothing that could faze the monk.

"Oy, can't be omniscient, can you?" Lena shrugged, finding the whole scene both adorable and funny. Bastion was carefully testing the joystick’s functionality, holding the welding tool to a few points just to be sure everything was, indeed, the way it used to be. "Relax, big guy. I think you repaired it." She patted Bastion's underarm before turning around and walking away, saying something about checking on the pilot.

Indeed, there wasn't an awful lot Tracer could have checked on. The moment she had stepped foot into the cockpit, she had already seen the open hangar doors the Orca’s pilot was just about to pull into. She sighed to herself, knowing that her job was done for now, as she walked back into the main area and informed everyone that they were there.

Hana looked relieved beyond imagination and darted through the open cargo hatch as soon as it allowed her to leave the Orca. The Korean MEKA pilot stormed right past Torbjörn and Morrison, who were standing inside the huge hangar full of multiple shuttles, supply-crates, cargo-transports, fuel trucks, hoses, and—of course—more technicians than anyone could have counted. The floor was shining concrete, and, despite the place seeming ridiculously messy at first glance, there were structure and system behind everything. The quartermaster and the commander of Overwatch were apparently only waiting for Tracer's team to return.

"Oy, Torb, you wanna get a look at our new friend?" Tracer smiled at the dwarf who just huffed in annoyance while Lena turned to Morrison. "Boss," she smiled, giving him a cheeky, two-fingered salute.

"Agent Oxton," he said dryly. "I understand the mission was successful?"

"Sure. No problems at all. We got the Bastion unit to come with us. Or better Zenyatta got it to come along. Now you just be nice to him and all is good."

"Oh, great. One Omnic is inviting more into our home. What could _possibly_ go wrong?" Torbjörn grumbled. "I swear, Morrison, when I poke through this thing’s source code and find just one line that seems dangerous to us, I will scrap the whole damn machine."

"Agent Lindholm, I expect a full analysis, either way. You know that there is not a single Omnic which was able to shake off the influence of a God Program on its own, yet this one somehow became self-sufficient. We need to look into this."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't have to like it." The dwarf huffed, nodding at something behind Tracer. The enormous Bastion unit was just leaving the shuttle with Zenyatta, who was floating next to him. The mountain of a machine looked around the hangar with apparent caution but obvious curiosity. "Is that the damn machine?" Torbjörn asked, looking pissed off as usual. "And what the hell is that thing on his shoulder?"

"Oh, that's Ganymede." Tracer replied with an innocent giggle while she quickly looked over her shoulder at the Omnic. "It's Bastion's little friend. Really cute, too."

Morrison and Torbjörn exchanged a quick glance, both shrugging slightly. "I expect your full report at the end of this week, Oxton."

"Yes, Sir." Tracer said with a nod.

"Good. Dismissed."

Tracer nodded again in acknowledgement and walked away, heading for the nearest metal stairway inside the hangar. It would bring her to the top level of the hangar from where she could reach the nearest exit she needed. On her way, she unstrapped her twin pistols from their holsters and loosened the belts and buckles on her combat suit, also opening the zipper of her leather jacket a bit to let some cool air in. Lena wasn't thinking about anything, really, so she utterly failed to notice the attentive, dangerous pair of eyes watching her from a dark corner. Oxton stepped through the automated doors, leaving the hangar, while she looked forward to a shower and some well-deserved downtime with a certain someone. She wasn't paying any attention to where she was going; her legs were finding the way back to her quarters on their own.

She was just peeling off her gloves, thinking of how great that hot and long shower would feel now and of how it would relax her muscles when two quick hands grabbed her and pulled her into a dark and hidden corner. Lena loosed a yelp in surprise, but it got muffled instantly. A cool hand reached around her face and quickly pressed itself onto her mouth while the person it belonged to used their body to hold Tracer pinned against the concrete wall in front of them. Lena's face was close to the wall and probably would have been pressed into it if not for the hand on her mouth.

"Any last words, _chérie_?" Lena heard the voice purr into her ear, followed by someone sucking on her earlobe. If her body was tense and surprised before, it instantly lost all its tension and relaxed into her 'assailant's' touch.  

"God, how I missed you..." Lena breathed as a reply before being suddenly and violently turned around.

"I like that answer," Widowmaker grinned, leaning forward and capturing Lena's lips in a hungry and demanding kiss. "I think I'll let you live... for now," she said after pulling away and enjoying the deep red blush spreading across her lover's face.

"That's really generous of you," Tracer teased, letting her hands rest on Amélie's hips. Longing and desire burned in her French lover’s eyes, both emotions so powerful that they made her yellow irises shine even more brightly than they did usually. That alone told Lena everything she needed to know, and she couldn’t help but feel a tug of guilt gripping her heart.

"You were gone for too long," Widow stated, suddenly completely serious, as if the thought just came over her out of nowhere. To Lena, it didn’t; she knew the mission took too long. She told Amélie that she would only be gone a day or two, yet it was more than double that time.

"Oh?" Lena looked at her lover with apologetic eyes. "Missed me that much?" she asked, knowing that there was more to it.

" _Oui,_ that too. But there also were a few things I would have wanted your input on. Important things... I think."

"Hey, you know I'm there for you. Let's go back to my quarters and we can talk about everything." She offered, but Amélie shook her head with a small smile on her plum lips.

"I waited long enough for you, and I didn’t pull you into this dark corner to tell you that I missed you, _chérie._ I think it can wait for a few more hours. So let me show you how much I missed you..." Her voice was turning into a husky whisper as she leaned forward and kissed Tracer again. Their tongues danced around each other in a passionate battle for dominance as both sighed moans of appreciation. Amélie sucked on Lena's lower lip before breaking away and leading her admirations over her lover's jaw line toward the sensitive pulse point below her ear. She made sure to pay some more attention to Lena's earlobe, too, knowing how much the Brit enjoyed that. Amélie's hand snuck into the top of Tracer's leather jacket; she worked it downwards, towards Tracer’s most private region, while opening the zipper further but stopping at every important station on the way there. Tracer didn't wear a bra because it would hurt her too much with the chronal accelerator strapped to her chest. That made Widow's job a lot easier. She teased Lena through the fabric of her—who would have guessed—old Air Force shirt she wore underneath.

"L-luv!" Lena breathed weakly. Her mind rapidly became fuzzy as Amélie gently, but with a notable urgency, moved her quick hands against Lena's trembling, hot body. "S-Someone might see us…" She tried to concentrate, but between Amélie's hand, now buried deeply in her pants, and the chilling-cool yet burning-hot kisses placed on her quickly exposed chest, she most definitely had a difficult time doing so. _I have fucked a girl between the rudders of my fighter-jet before. What am I fussing about?! Oh gooood._

"Don't care," Widowmaker muttered in response to Lena’s protest, as she roughly licked all the way up from Lena's collarbone to her neck, sucking hard. "I want you. Now." She whispered in a hiss. There was not a moment of pause before Lena felt the coolness that could only be her lover’s hand turn inside her pants. Widow’s quick fingers slipped Lena’s already damp knickers to the side and quickly entered her ready folds, which prickled with excitement. Amélie’s touch quickly lost its formerly gentle nature, the hunger she felt for Lena taking over. She couldn’t show restraint anymore. Widow needed to feel Lena, and she needed to feel her _now._ The former assassin wasn't gentle with her younger lover anymore.

Not one bit.

But Lena didn't mind at all; to her it just showed how much Amélie craved her, how much she needed Lena to be there for her—which were exactly the reasons for Amélie’s ardor. Despite not realizing the reason for her harsh desire, herself, Widowmaker needed to convince herself that Tracer was still there. That she was still _hers_ and vice versa—something that would never change.

The location in some floor of the Watchpoint was long forgotten; Lena's only concern was keeping her balance. Widowmaker slipped her arm underneath Lena’s thigh and lifted Lena’s leg up to gain better access to the parts of her body that she was currently most interested in. That caused Lena to balance on one foot, which added to the excitement and arousal she felt. This made keeping her balance more and more difficult; the wall Widowmaker kept her pressed against didn't feel like much of a support.

As Amélie demonstrated how well she knew her lover’s body, and while Lena desperately tried to hold on to Widowmaker to maintain her balance, Lena felt the tingling tension in her own body build and build, stirred and enflamed by the powerful caresses of her lover. The sensations were overflowing—Amélie's soft and quiet moans of appreciation, her unique, intoxicating scent, and her skilled, determined touch. Lena couldn't help but bury her nails in Amélie's back as her body went rigid.

Widowmaker was just waiting for the perfect opportunity. She captured Lena's lips at the very last moment, muffling Lena’s relieving, moaning cry of pleasure almost completely with a hard kiss. She couldn't help but smile like a fool when she felt Lena relaxing against her body again, her lover’s muscles weak and unable to support her on their own.

"I love you, Lena" Widowmaker whispered with absolute sincerity into her ear. No teasing. No grinning. Just honesty.

-/-

**Infirmary, workout section, roughly the same time**

Strained groaning and a muffled metal rattle filled the infirmary. The evening sun, which was slowly sinking into the blue sea on the horizon, bathed the room in dimly iridescent orange light. The long shadows of the only two present were dark silhouettes upon the sunlit floor. Pharah was attempting her first few steps in what felt like years under the close observation of one Dr. Angela Ziegler, who was watching over her patient with care.

Fareeha was trying to walk in between bars, her body supported by her strong arms as she was dragging her legs along more than actually walking. The training she was doing should not have been exhausting at all. Before she was shot, she could have done this kind of stuff for hours without even breaking a sweat. Now, this was different. The slightest movement was demanding, exhausting, shamefully forced and—overall—not what she imagined. Fareeha didn't like how slow her progress was. She should have been better by now, yet she was still unable to walk even one step without being supported. Even then, she barely managed a couple of small steps before her legs felt weak and were hurting.

Frustration was written all across her tanned face so clearly that a blind person could have easily picked it up and pointed it out to her.

Mercy did no such things. Once she had reached the end of the bars, she gently touched her patient’s shoulder. A faint and friendly smile limned Mercy’s rose lips.

"I think that's enough for today, Fareeha. Pushing yourself too far will cause more harm than good," she said empathically.

"No, I can do another round. I need to," she gritted through her teeth.

"Fareeha..." Angela said calmly.

"I'm taking too long, I need to get back into action, I need-"

"Pharah."

The Egyptian looked at her doctor and wanted to speak up against it again, but the look in Mercy's solemn face stopped her. She had only the faintest of smiles on her lips, yet she managed to command an authority which was unmatched in its kind. Her whole expression was overflowing with care and gentleness, showing that Mercy was, indeed, most concerned with her patient’s well-being.

So Fareeha just sighed in defeat and nodded, letting Angela help her back into the wheelchair, which was being kept nearby—albeit to Pharah’s chagrin. She wanted to be at peak condition again as soon as possible. She felt like a 100 year-old grandma. Hell, she couldn't even go to the toilet alone; it was so shameful and she was so embarrassed about it. What kind of soldier needed a nurse to get to and on the toilet?

"Healing takes time above all else, dear. You have nothing to be ashamed of; your injuries would have killed a lesser woman," Angela said softly, as if she was reading Pharah's thoughts.

Shaking her head, Fareeha adjusted her position in the wheelchair. "Am I that obvious?" she asked.

"You are hardly the first patient I had." Angela allowed herself a small laugh while she turned the wheelchair around and pushed her stubborn patient away from the training equipment. "But yes, you are pretty obvious."

"Damn," Pharah laughed. "I should work on my poker face, then."

"That would be a good starting point, I agree," Angela replied light-heartedly as she pushed Fareeha toward the wet rooms. They had wordlessly agreed that Pharah needed a shower.

"Maybe I should ask your blue friend for some pointers." Fareeha looked over her shoulder to see Mercy's reaction. She couldn't help but notice two things about Widowmaker—no, _Amélie,_ which was how Angela always insisted she should be called. One, that the assassin was mostly in close proximity to the doctor, and, two, that she seemed to glare with ill intent at everyone, except for the doctor.

Angela's facial expression was hardly giving anything away that Fareeha might have considered a clue. Angela just rolled her eyes ever so slightly. "You really like pushing that button, don't you? I told you already, I'm just—"

"—keeping an eye on her, yes, yes. You keep telling me that. But she is way nicer to you than she is to everyone else, from what I see. May I remind you of the poor guy who came to you because he had a headache a couple of days ago when you were so busy? The way she told him that you had better things to do than to take care of his booboo was just... scary."

" _Naja,_ that's Amélie. She does that." Angela shrugged. If she had thought one step further into the right direction she might have realized that Fareeha was asking those things because she might have been a little bit jealous, that she was trying to make out the possible competition. Pharah had a crush on the doctor since she first saw her. She thought she had it under control by now, after all those years, but she didn't. Her cheeks still burned up like they did on the first day. Around Angela, she felt like a little girl again.

Mercy was totally oblivious to those things, though. She turned the wheelchair around and walked backwards through the saloon-style doors separating the showers from the training section. "Do you need help with the shower?" she asked gently, knowing that Fareeha did need the help but not wanting to hurt her pride by just going ahead with it.

"I..." Fareeha's face started burning a deep shade of red. "I mean there are nurses for that, right? You don't have to waste time with me and-"

" _Paperlapapp,_ " Mercy interrupted, pushing Fareeha into a cabin made to accommodate someone in a wheelchair and an assistant. "I'll take care of you," she said before stopping. "That is, unless you don't want me to?"

Fareeha thought it was impossible for her to get any redder in the face, but apparently she was gravely mistaken. "Nonono, that's not what I meant, I mean it's... I'll shut up now." She stuttered.

Angela took her white coat off and left it outside the shower before she rolled up the sleeves on the wine-red blouse she was wearing underneath the coat. Crouching down next to Pharah, she helped her patient to undress from her sweaty sports clothes. It was difficult since Pharah could barely stand on her own; getting rid of the tight and sweaty pants was not easy. Fareeha being so ashamed about it didn't help, either, but, eventually, they managed.

Pharah avoided looking into Mercy's deep blue eyes the entire time. Her heart was racing and she felt her face burning up time and time again. This felt so strange. It was very intimate, which was something Fareeha didn't really mind, but at the same time it was also so very awkward. There was something about getting undressed by Mercy in this situation that made Pharah slightly queasy. Maybe it was because she knew that the situation wasn't romantic in any way, no matter how much she wanted it to be. Mercy was doing her job, and she was doing it with professional care and precision. She was being very gentle about it, but Dr. Ziegler was ultimately just doing her job.

The old gods of Egypt were her witnesses, Fareeha wanted nothing more than for it to mean more than professional care. For it to be meant the way it felt to Pharah and to be able to touch Angela the way the Doctor was touching her now.

Warm water was starting to softly flow over Pharah’s hair and body as she sat in the wheelchair. Angela worked carefully to clean her patient's body.

"Is the temperature ok for you?" Angela asked, her voice as soft and warm as the water.

"Mhm" was all Fareeha managed, afraid her voice would betray her. She tried hard to concentrate on anything other than Angela's tender hands rubbing soap into her sweaty skin and rinsing it away with water afterwards. Neither of them spoke a word while Angela showered the Egyptian, the latter staring straight ahead and biting her tongue hard enough for it to be painful. She would melt in shame and run down the drain together with the soapy water should she start moaning now.

Mercy quickly finished her work and carefully dried Fareeha off with a soft towel before she helped her into some fresh hospital clothes.

"You really need to relax, there is nothing to be ashamed of. I'm sure you would do the same for me if the roles were to be reversed," Angela said as she pushed Fareeha out of the showers and toward the sleeping area of the infirmary.

"I seriously can't be _that_ obvious!" Pharah exclaimed, shocked that she was found out. Was she too tense? Too silent? Too awkward?

"You are all red in your face. It's kind of adorable, really. Don't show that face to the boys. They might get weak," she teased.

"So I really do need that stoic poker face Widowmaker wears all the time. How does she do that, anyway?" Fareeha asked light heartedly, not aware of the seriousness behind her question.

"You don't want to know, trust me." Angela's voice suddenly grew very serious, almost pained and distant. "She paid a horrible price."

"Oh," was all Pharah could come up with in that moment. She didn't want to let awkward silence spread between them, so she quickly added: "by the way, did you find her?" Fareeha wanted to know, curiosity getting the better of her as the thought suddenly entered her mind.

"I did." Angela replied swiftly.

"Where was she hiding?"

"The shooting range" Mercy said with a deadpan expression, while they approached Fareeha's bed.

"Figures," Fareeha chuckled, somehow not at all surprised but also not knowing why Amélie had been there. "That's probably where I would also run off to. If I could run."

"You will learn it again, don't you worry about it." Angela reassured confidently as she stopped the wheelchair next to Fareeha's bed, starting to help the muscular woman into the bed.

There was a box of Swiss chocolates on the nightstand along with some flowers. The origin of the latter was unknown to Mercy, but she had gotten the former for her a few days prior because she felt the unexpected urge to do something nice for Fareeha. At least, that was what she told her patient. She really did it in a desperate attempt to numb some of the guilt she kept feeling because she had somehow convinced herself that Fareeha's situation was her fault. That her bodyguard was only injured because of her, and that it wouldn't have happened if Angela would just have stayed more resistant and insisted that personal protection in Zürich was hardly necessary. Rationally, she knew just how much bullshit that was, but Angela simply couldn't bear it any longer. It didn't help that she _knew_ it was bullshit _._ She also knew that there was no danger in taking cold showers, yet she found herself _still_ incapable of doing so.

Angela made sure that the pillows were adequately positioned for Fareeha, and then she pulled the blanket a bit over Fareeha’s waist, enough to keep her warm but not completely cover her.

"If you say that,” Fareeha started, referring to Mercy’s assurances about the prognosis, “I trust you, Dr. Ziegler." Ever since Fareeha woke up from her coma, she had lost a lot of her former stiffness around Angela. She was way more relaxed and informal with Mercy, something the doctor appreciated greatly. From time to time, though, Pharah still addressed the doctor with her title, and that sent a strange shiver down Mercy's back. The smile her Egyptian friend had on her lips when she used it indicated that she was very much aware of that effect.

Angela was about to turn and leave when she felt Pharah's hand reach out for hers and hold on to it.

"There is something else..." Fareeha said silently, her eyes starting to avoid Mercy's. "If you have a moment, that is. I'm sorry, but I really don't have anyone else I can talk to except you. Well, I _could_ , I guess, but I don't want to." She managed a shy smile.

That statement, indeed, did fluster Mercy to some extent, and she had to concentrate to keep her voice calm. "Of course, I'm always here to talk. What is it?"

"I had an interesting talk with Reinhardt when you were off to track down Wido- _Amélie._ "

"Oh?"

"Yeah... He..." Fareeha looked away awkwardly. "He's my father."

Angela smiled warmly as she sat down on the edge of Fareeha's bed, still holding her hand for some reason. For a second, the thought occurred to her that it was much warmer than Widowmaker's. "So he finally told you?"

"He did." Pharah replied, before suddenly looking at Mercy. "Wait, you knew?"

"I did." The doctor nodded.

"So they told you, but not me?" Pharah said, a touch of contempt starting to fill her voice. "My mother..."

"Stop it." Angela said firmly, "it wasn't like that at all."

"Why did she tell you, then?" Fareeha looked at Mercy, her eyes wide, and Angela could see just how much the whole matter affected the strong warrior—how much it hurt her. Angela sighed deeply.

"Do you remember when you were around 15? You were terribly ill. Your mother told you it was only a fever when she brought you to me."

"I remember that. She said you were just making sure I'm alright and that you normally wouldn't have time for petty things like fevers," Pharah said. The good doctor couldn't help but feel offended that Ana would imply that she had no time for people with easier-to-treat sicknesses. She was a doctor. Helping people was what she did; the kind of illness mattered not.

"What you were suffering at the time was no ordinary fever, far from it. The symptoms were similar, true, but your illness was caused by your genetic makeup acting up big-time because of Reinhardt's modifications. It was _severe._ Your body was deteriorating on a cellular level, you know, since Rein was never supposed to be able to reproduce. We nearly lost you that day because I didn't know why your body was acting the way it was. It made no sense. I told Ana that I needed to know _everything_ about you. So she told me how you came to be. With a sample of Rein's stem-cells, I came up with a treatment and was able to dampen parts of your genetic code, and you lived on."

Fareeha groaned, "You could have told me, you know?"

"I promised your mother that I wouldn't do that," Angela replied.

"Yeah, because of that stupid church thing."

"The Iscariot Organization, yes. Those were total lunatics at the time. Your mother was afraid someone would take you away. You were her everything. She would be so proud of you these days; I'm sure of it."

"Yeah, tell that to the marines, Angela." Fareeha looked away "Don't come to my mother's defense now. She used to be my hero, but I meant nothing for her." Her voice was cracking up, the façade of indifference slowly breaking and showing that, underneath it all, there was just the little girl deeply hurt by her mother's neglect all those years ago.

"That's not true. She was trying to protect you; that's all." Angela replied sadly.

"Oh, was she now? Then you surely can tell me how not knowing who my father is was supposed to protect me, exactly. Or how it protected me that she was never there for me when I could have used some advice? Or where she was when I had trouble? Protecting me apparently had a lot to do with neglecting me. I mean, she shipped me off to some boarding school as soon as she could. I didn't see her for 12 years before the message that she was killed came to me. 12 years. She made no attempt to talk to her own daughter in 12 whole years."

"That's not..." Mercy wanted to say that what Fareeha told her wasn't true, but she had to admit that it unfortunately was very much what happened. "Listen, your mother loved you."

"She had a strange way of showing that."

"I'm sure she would do a lot differently today," Mercy said with a sad smile.

"I don't really care anymore. I don't need her. There was a time when I wanted nothing more than her approval, but I don't care anymore. She gave me my name, but that's where our connection ends." She squeezed Mercy's hand for a moment and looked her in the eyes with a solemn expression. "And I'm pretty sure she wouldn't be proud of me, if she knew what I want in my life."

Another shiver ran down Angela's back—one she didn't expect. Despite Fareeha's claim, Angela couldn’t help but think that her mother had shaped a lot more of her life than just her name.

-/-

**French south coast, deep in the same night.**

The white full moon was shining brightly down onto the veranda enclosed by a heavy stone handrail, which was just another minor detail of the extremely luxurious villa in France. Sombra could have sworn that the moon was bigger than it usually was, but that might have been because she was staring at the peaceful orb to distract herself. The breeze was chilly at this time of the night—so cool, in fact, that it gave Sombra goosebumps. And that wasn't because the unique Latina was used to warm temperatures and generally enjoyed them the most. But Sombra still kept her hands placed on the even colder stone handrail in front of her, leaning slightly forward. Another gush of chilly air brushed over her body, and she shivered ever so slightly, feeling the cool air entering the hem of her ridiculously light nightgown, which was hanging wide open around her shoulders. The purple fabric was see-through all the way, and Sombra wasn't wearing anything underneath. The silk swayed gently in the wind. She felt the gush of cold air between her legs creeping up and around her small but firm breasts.

Her eyes stared at the moon, her body otherwise unmoved. It was strange that she felt the cold so strongly and that she found the resolve to look at the moon while her body was otherwise completely numb and unresponsive; however, her body was not numb in a way that she couldn't feel. It was numb in a way that it didn't comply.

"I like that you have piercings," a voice muttered behind her as she felt a set of warm hands pull her long but open nightgown back around her hips. The hands were placed on her pelvis and started to glide upward on her sides before moving around to cup her breasts in a less than gentle manner. Her pierced nipples were tightly squeezed between two thumbs and index fingers, the sensation being both entirely unpleasant and unwelcome. Her squeal got stuck in her throat, but the squeeze was still tightened a little more, just to add to the sting. For what felt like a few minutes her breasts were being toyed with before one hand left her now hurting bosom alone and wandered downwards, over her well toned stomach and in between her legs. She had them spread already, not voluntarily but not left with another choice. Sombra didn't even realize this herself; her body just moved into this position when she arrived and refused to move ever since.

"You should get one here, too, I think." She felt a finger rub roughly over a particularly sensitive spot between her legs. "Right _there._ "

The Latina inhaled sharply, a wave of discomfort and sharp pain gripping her body.

"Would that please you, Master?" Sombra found herself asking, yet she didn't want to speak those words. She wanted to kick backwards, into the balls of the guy pressed up against her back, groping and touching her like this without _any_ permission or consent on her part. She wanted to kick his nose so deep into his face that it would come out on the other end of his skull and then make a run for it—just get away from here, use the arrangements she had already made, and vanish forever. But she couldn't. A part of her demanded that she stay, and, what was even more horrible to what little remained of her numbed-out original self, a part of her even might have enjoyed.

"Oh, it would please me greatly," the voice of the man behind her replied. Sombra could hear the disgustingly smug grin in his churlish face. She knew that what really got him going wasn't the intimate decoration itself but how painful it would be to get one there. It wasn't much different when she got her nipples pierced and he made sure to play with them a lot right after that, when they were still very sore and tender. He would do so again.

Despite knowing this, despite seeing the pain this would cause her and despite the fit of insults that welled up in her throat, screaming to be spit into his abhorrent face, Sombra opened her mouth and said: "Then I will get it pierced for you, Master."

"See, you can behave if you want," he replied with a sadistic sneer in his voice. "But enough of that. Be a dear and strip out of that gown for me," he ordered as he stepped back a little. Sombra's eyes were still fixed to the moon, she herself but a visitor in her own body. She prayed he wouldn't make her turn around for what was to come while she let the purple silk slip off her shoulders and fall to the floor with a barely noticeable reluctance and the faintest of moments of hesitation. If she had to look into his green eyes again, she was certain she'd break.

His hands were on her hips again and she felt his nails roughly sink into his flesh. "Put your ass out more," he commanded. When Sombra didn't comply immediately, he dragged her into the position he desired before she felt a sharp pain in one of her butt cheeks, being slapped—hard. His hands grabbed her behind firmly and gave it an unnecessarily tight squeeze, pulling the cheeks apart with no care for being gentle at all.

A finger slid in between her buttocks, finding the most private point on Sombra's body, an opening not meant for the insertion of anything. "This hole hasn't been used in a while, don't you agree?"

Sombra swallowed heavily, her insides convulsing.

"Yes, Master," she heard herself say despite everything.

She looked at the moon as his belt came loose.

It was a beautiful moon.

"Excuse the interruption, Sir," another firm male voice exclaimed. "She has arrived and is ready to give you her report."

The big boss groaned, heavily frustrated, spanking Sombra hard another time just for good measure. "The timing that bitch has." He grumbled as the sound of small and light footsteps was coming closer.

Sombra was starting to feel more and more in control of herself again as she let out a deep sigh. Whoever was interrupting must have been sent by god.

"I am sorry for intruding, Master," Gerda said as she walked up to her former owner. She, of course, saw the woman bending over the handrail, stark naked, and also knew who it was, but Gerda did nothing in terms of somehow interacting with Sombra or even acknowledging her in the slightest. She just ignored her, as if she wasn't even there. In her years as Savant's personal maid, she had seen scenes like this more than enough and her fair share of far worse stuff. At least his victim wasn't bleeding.

Yet. That might be subject to change, considering the expression Savant wore on his face.

He was furious and Gerda could see it clearly in the full moonlight.

"You are here now. Speak, before I make you regret your choice of timing." He sneered.

"As you ordered, I kept a close eye on Reaper and his doings while he was in charge of our organization. I sneaked away unnoticed by him, as you requested. As stated in my previous report, he has been working through all the old files of Talon. Everything there is."

Savant grabbed Gerda, shaking her violently. "I swear if that's all you have to say I will feed you to the dogs. I wanted to know what he was doing with all those documents. What is he up to? I demand to know. Is he trustworthy? Can I leave him in charge or do I need to replace him? Answer!"

"I don't think he's up to anything, Master," Gerda replied—and immediately regretted it, as Savant's fist connected with her abdomen. She felt the air escape through her lungs as she stumbled to the ground, kneeling.

"Gerda," Savant hissed, "I'll ask you again. What. Do. You. Know. No one reads these documents without any intent. Tell me what you know. That's an order, you dumb, useless cunt."

The maid felt an all too familiar painful tug in the back of her head, a force urging her to tell her that Reaper had not only been looking into various top secret documents but also that he placed some suspicious phone-calls after reading them. She felt the overwhelming urge to tell Savant about Reaper's suspicious behavior, how he had been conducting missions with no real value and no apparent objective, and how they hadn't really gotten anywhere since Reaper took over Talon.

"There's..." she groaned, her insides hurting and her head feeling like it was about to explode. She was scared of Savant, with excellent cause, but whereas she never had a choice other than doing his twisted bidding, there seemed to be another way now.

_"Thank you, Gerda."_

_"I'm not your master. Grow a spine."_

_"Sit down and eat something."_

_"It's better if you don't know."_

He was cold. But he was friendly in his own way. Not once did he mistreat her so far.

"... just nothing. He is thorough. That's all. Please, Master, there is nothing to tell except for that. I came to confirm that your decision was right. Have I ever lied to you?"

Savant groaned in frustration, running his finger through his hair and turning on the spot twice before he apparently decided that kicking Gerda in her face would be a stupid idea for venting his anger and instead opted to kick Sombra between her still-spread legs. Hard.

The Latina yelped in agonizing pain at the unexpected assault and barely managed to avoid falling to her knees.

"I don't like how this feels. I don't like it." Savant murmured to himself, regarding Sombra for a moment as she writhed in pain, then sighing with an unmatched arrogance and annoyance.

"Great job, Gerda. You and your timing. I should have you whipped or something. We were having so much fun, but now I'm not in the mood anymore. You are dismissed, Sombra." He said and the Latina immediately got up from the pose she had been holding and reached for her night gown with a more than ashamed expression on her face. "No! You leave that here and go with that useless maid for now," he ordered, and Sombra shakily retreated her hand which was about to pick up the little piece of clothing, the uncertainty in her movements not unnoticed by Gerda. Savant placed his hand on Sombra’s shoulder. "I want you to do me a favor." He said plainly, his emerald eyes peering into hers. Her irises went wide—so wide that only little of the unusual purple color remained. "Soon, you will find yourself tired. You will fall asleep, and when you awake anew, none of this will have happened. Return to your reality again." The expression on her face vanished completely, replaced with absolutely nothing. She just nodded once.

"Do you want me to bring her back to her workplace, Master?" Gerda asked, she, herself, getting up from the ground again, barely able to stand.

"Do that. Apparently, you aren't _always_ completely useless." Savant hissed before turning to an already-leaving Sombra. "Oh, and get that piercing done in time, understand? I want you to have it next time around. Freshly, that is."

"Yes, Master," Sombra replied, quickly leaving the veranda with Gerda following equally quickly. They vanished into the villa’s complex arrangement of hallways and walked for a couple of minutes before Gerda spoke up again.

"Are you still about to come back? Or did he overwrite the real you again?" she asked Sombra with a quick glance.

"The master gave me his orders." She replied automatically, her eyes completely out of focus. She didn’t even realize that she wasn’t wearing anything. "I will comply."

"The latter, then," Gerda said plainly. "Don't worry; you will have forgotten in a few hours. Ignorance sure is a bliss. The cheerful you is really nice." She said these thoughts out loud despite knowing that it wouldn't make the slightest difference. The maid took a good look at the attractive young hacker walking next to her stark naked. She was absolutely gorgeous. Her copper skin was flawless for the most part, except for some metal implants along her spinal cord, but even those seemed beautiful in their own way. Her purple eyes, however, had no spark in them. No life.

It would return soon enough, all thanks to the magical trickery Talon's scientists had applied to her computer-enhanced brain—a voice command to make her obedient and a voice command to revert her back to normal with a little bit of delay.

In a way, Gerda was jealous. She would never have a body like this, never be able to show off curves like the Latina did. She would never have her amazing hips and surely not her perfect breasts.

On the other hand, the maid was very happy that her childish body held little to no sexual interest for the big boss. She was only beat up. And even that was at an all time low since she was given to Reaper.

No, she wasn't really jealous of Sombra, come to think of it.

-/-

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> "Are finally done?"
> 
> -Yeah, for now. Why?
> 
> "We wanted to go to Lena's place, remember? You promised"
> 
> -Yeah, I'm coming, I'm coming.
> 
> So, that's it for this chapter. I have to say, it wasn't really easy to write at all. I also have to say that it's stupid to publish this chapter now, because the next chapter will take me considerably longer than three days. But whatever ^^
> 
> As for the Sombra-scene. I'm aware that it wasn't nice to read, but that was an important part. It had to be uncomfortable. And those of you who read Addictions with an attentive eye will surely be able to draw some parallels to Amélie or how she must have been treated.
> 
> Still, I drew no pleasure from writing that sequence. None at all. But I hope I achieved my goal and made you all hate Mr. Savant even more. Because he is a complete bastard.
> 
> "You coming already?"
> 
> -I'm talking about Sombra, give me a sec.
> 
> "Oh. Désolé"
> 
> -I'll be downstairs in a moment.
> 
> Well anyway, that's it for today. I hope you enjoyed the chapter otherwise, it wasn't easy to write, like… at all. Especially balancing Pharah and Mercy in this chapter, making the first steps toward a relationship without taking in too far was an act.
> 
> Special thanks go once again to the three Angels, Azuki Rose, EhMattissimo and of course Ihaveacoolname, who once again did an amazing beta-reading job. You people are rockstars!
> 
> And you lot are too! Thanks for all the love!
> 
> Don't forget to tell me what you think! I'll see you all in the next one.
> 
> And now I'm off, before Amélie strangles me to death. She'd do that…
> 
> o7
> 
> E82
> 
>  
> 
> If you want to support the story, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction


	33. A storm of Bullets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to support the story, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction

 

**Somewhere**

Sombra was hectically typing on her screen, completely in the zone. The myriad of screens showing even more data quickly rushing by was probably only comprehensible to the Mexican hacker; no one else would have been able to understand and handle these amounts of raw data while simultaneously making god knows how many independent commands. Sombra was switching between consoles and command screens with such ease, she made the entire process seem like it was child's play. Reaper understood exactly  _nada._  It was all Double Dutch to him. He wasn't even sure why he was here in the first place. Reaper definitely wouldn't put it past Sombra to call him here and just have him stand and wait there, simply to see how long he would wait for her to say something. But apparently this wasn't one of those times when the annoying Latina was just trying to mess with him.

"Ok, we have a problem, Gabe," she said, finally leaning back in her chair, cracking her knuckles loudly.

"Stop calling me that," Reaper grumbled behind her.

"Yeah, yeah, sure whatever. Listen, someone caught up with the power consumption."

"And now the version for someone who doesn't stare at a screen his entire day." Reaper said, and Sombra laughed light-heartedly.

"You know about project Gearbox? Of course you know about it by now; you run Talon. All part of the bossman's big secret master plan and whatnot." Sombra was only half right about this. Sure, Reyes knew about the project. He knew it was huge and that it was ridiculously expensive, but that was about the extent of what he was made aware of. The big mission. It was the only project that he had no access to. Talon's former head, who was still unknown to him even by now, was extremely secretive about it, only disclosing the absolutely necessary parts. It had to do with the production of something. What that something was, Reaper could only guess. He really had to get behind this soon.

Sombra continued while he was musing. "Short version for dummies: It takes a lot of juice. Like, a  _lot_  of it, so much we can't generate enough with mobile fusion units. That's why I've been carefully draining additional power from multiple sources. I was very careful about it, but someone still caught up with it. Hard to imagine, considering I did the hacking and all, but still. Some government rat found out. Maybe go tell the boss that."

"Why tell me first?"

"You know, I kinda don't want to see him right now. Always staring at my tits and all that. I really don't get paid enough to put up with his long eyes. And certainly not what he imagines." Sombra shrugged, leaning back forward and concentrating on her screen. "Do I look like a hooker to you, Gabe?"

Reaper chuckled deeply. "I won't comment on that," he said and secretly fought the thought of how Sombra's attitude in that regard looked. One version was her, glued to the PC all day long and not going out to entertain other activates. The other one… wasn't so much like that.

"Whatever,  _Gabe._  You know, I wouldn't mind looking under that mask of yours someday." She winked at him.

"In your dreams, Sombra," he replied.

"You're no fun," she pouted playfully.

"Not my problem," he said with a certain edge in his voice. "Who found out?"

" _¿Cómo?_ "

"The power consumption. Which country noticed it? Try to keep up here, Sombra," Reaper groaned, the frustration clearly noticeable in his voice.

"Oh, that. Germany and Austria, it seems. They haven't done anything yet, but they know about it."

"Not good." Reaper sighed.

"Oh? Why is that?" Sombra asked sarcastically and turned around in her chair, but the black-clad killer was already gone. All that Sombra saw was the last bit of black smoke dissolving in thin air.

-/-

**Watchpoint Gibraltar, a few days later, 1700 hours**

When the private rooms for the Agents at the Watchpoint were designed, it was done so with the intention of housing one person quite comfortably.

The lights in Oxton's room were at merely twenty percent of their full brightness, filling the small space with a dim, cozy light. The blanket of the bed had hastily been thrown over the desk with little regard for what was on the desk at the time. Clothes were lying on the floor, forgotten where they slipped off a body.

It has been a while since only one person inhabited Oxton's little refuge.

Two bodies were lying on top of the bed, their limbs entangled in an indistinguishable mess. Soft moans and tender cries of bliss broke the buzzing desire hanging heavily in the air. If one of the young fleshy hulls hadn't been blue, it would have been impossible to tell them apart.

Tracer had her face buried in the crook of Widowmaker's neck. The former pilot was gently nibbling at the chosen spot, her hot lips caressing the cool skin of her lover. One of Lena's arms snaked around Amélie's back, pushing her up just a little to support her weight while the other was firmly buried in between her girlfriend's endless legs. Lena's fingers worked their magic, every single move she made intent on giving her partner pleasure. Amélie threw her head back in bliss, her hands digging deep into Tracer's back, scratching the Brit deeply.

She didn't mind one bit, allowing herself to be pressed even tighter into Widow's cool body than she already was.

Amélie's mouth was wide open as a silent scream of pleasure escaped her, her whole body feeling like it was one with Lena. The heat of the other girl was seeping into her cold skin, filling her with life and energy. She could feel Tracer's vivid heartbeat hammering against her own chest, and despite the heat and the sweat, she wanted to feel closer to her lover. The Brit was all over her, her masterful hands touching her in places she never thought possible, doing things to her Amélie never knew she liked. Each time they joined each other, their lovemaking got better—more intense and more passionate, their bodies working as one, as they knew exactly what the other craved the most, how to make them doubt their own minds and just lose themselves in the other's arms.

Amélie floated for a few moments, disconnected from the world and everything around her except Tracer. There was nothing on her mind in that moment; she only felt incredible release, satisfaction and peace—the heat of Lena's body, her intoxicating scent, and her careful fingers, gently allowing Amélie to come down from her high by slowing down in a relaxing pattern.

Lena's heartbeat. Strong and wild, like a force of nature.

She felt Lena's tongue slide up her neck and suck on her earlobe and Amélie hummed happily before her body returned from the cloud she had been sitting on. She sank back into the comfy bed and felt the sweat soaked mattress under her, while the linen clung to her sticky back. She couldn't have cared less.

Lena smiled wickedly at her lover, moving to roll off her, but Amélie held her firmly in place on top of her, wrapping her arms around the smaller woman.

"Stay right here,  _s'il te plaît,_ " she whispered, speaking the first words in hours. None were needed before.

"Mhh…" Lena hummed, letting her head rest in the middle of Amélie's chest. "Have I told you how mind-blowingly gorgeous you are, Blueberry? And how much I love you?"

" _Oui._  You have." Widow said, staring at the ceiling while her fingers were idly playing with Lena's hair. "But I like when you say it."

Tracer giggled adorably. "You just want your ego stroked."

"Maybe," Amélie replied smugly, and Lena moved to prop her head on her own elbows, now looking her girlfriend deeply in the eyes. There was only love and affection to find in those mesmerizing yellow orbs. Her hard glare was gone; the cold stare was no more, at least around Lena. Sometimes, the expression her malicious glare was replaced with reminded Lena of a deer caught in the headlights.

"You are absolutely stunning, Amélie. And I love you with all of my heart." She said, being absolutely serious about it, before placing a quick and innocent peck on Widow's lips.

Amélie managed a coy, insecure smile, for she still had trouble believing that this was really happening. But it was. This was real life now, and she could not have been happier. Sure, there were many unresolved issues to take care of, but right now, none of this mattered.

"And I love you,  _chérie._ " Widow stated simply. She didn't have to say more; Lena understood perfectly. It wasn't only the fact that Amélie could even love someone. It was the whole  _how_  and  _why,_  neither of which needed to be expressed in words. They understood each other in more ways than by speaking.

A comfortable silence fell over them and Lena decided that now was the time to roll off Widowmaker. She lied on the bed on her back right next to her lover. It didn't take Amélie long to snuggle up against Lena's side, and the Brit reached for the blanked to carefully drape it over their bodies.

"We should take a shower, maybe." Lena laughed.

"There is time for that later," Widow groaned. "I don't want you to move now," she added, and Lena just sighed, accepting the decision. It wasn't like she wanted to get up and move now, either; this was a comfortable position. It didn't matter that they both smelled like sex.

"Have you thought about what Angela told us? With all the implants?" Lena suddenly asked in a quiet voice, barely more than a whisper.

" _Oui,_ " Amélie replied, equally subdued, after some moments had passed.

"And?"

"It's not like I have much of a choice, do I?"

"If you think for a second that I would simply accept that you have only two more years to live just because you are afraid of operating tables, then hell no. You don't have a choice. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I sure as fuck don't plan on that being a measly two years."

"Yeah..." Amélie looked away nervously, and Tracer felt her girl stiffen against her body. Lena even felt the shudder that crept up Widowmaker's blue skin, and it didn't give the Brit an awful lot of hope. She just wished there was something she could do to make it easier for Widow.

"Luv, listen to me." Lena reached over to gently turn Amélie's face back around, their noses so close that they were almost touching. Tracer brushed her warm lips against her lover's, giving her a chaste, innocent kiss. "I know it scares you, even if you don't want to admit it, but if there is one thing you can trust in, then it's Angela's capabilities as a doctor. She is by far the best there is. I promise: she will be good to you and will be very careful."

Amélie held Lena's gaze for a moment before she put her head back against Lena's shoulder, cuddling a little closer and relaxing a bit. "I know that," she stated.

"But you're still afraid." Lena sighed and felt the nod against her skin a few moments later. Tracer knew that there was no way that years of abuse and mistreatment would simply go away because of a few good words.

"Why do I feel so horrible when I think about it? Like I'm some broken toy that needs fixing," Amélie asked, bitterness and confusion in her voice. She didn't understand herself. Of course, she was getting better with her emotions. Day by day, she discovered more and was able to make more sense about everything she felt, but there was still so much she didn't understand, feelings she couldn't place, ideas she didn't know the source of, and urges she was uncertain she should have—urges she was uncertain were even normal.

"It's not your fault." Lena held the poor woman next to her closer. "Talon did this to you. They made you like this. But don't feel bad because of it. You are you, Amélie, and you are an amazing woman. Don't ever doubt that. Talon might have seen it differently, but this. Is.  _Not_. Talon. You are  _not_  a toy. You  _don't_  need fixing. Angela will just revert what Talon forced on you and was too stupid and too sloppy to even do right. It was their mistake, not yours. They forced this on you, but if I have it my way, they will pay for it. And in the end, you can stand proudly in the ashes of what's left of their burning bases, knowing that you were stronger than them, that you survived, that you aren't broken and that you sure as hell aren't their toy. You are your own woman, Amélie, and you have your own story. Not the one they were telling for you."

"You say that like it's a book filled with stories. But there is so much lost of my past, so much I don't remember or was made to forget. So many blank pages."

"It will come back over time. I'm sure of it. You will remember again; it's just all rather fresh. Give yourself some time."

"It's been months..." Widow said, both defeated and frustrated at the same time.

"I know, but your brain has been tampered with for years. It won't work this fast. Some things are already coming back, no?"

"Mostly memories about you, though," Widow said idly.

"Oi, you make it sound like those are worthless memories!" Tracer poked her girlfriend in the sides.

" _Non, non._ You know that's not what I mean. My memories about you were always very intense. And... well, I had a life before I met you, didn't I? People are talking a lot, and I do hear them. It's not like I care what they think about me, but I would like to remember. They hate me for things I don't recall."

"Tell you what, you give yourself a bit more time and if you don't remember anything soon-ish we'll dig around together, ok? I mean, there are people here who knew you before you got that sexy blue skin." Lena smiled goofily at Amélie, who had to snort at the comment. "As for the other people, just do it like you already do. Ignore them; they don't matter at all. What do you say?"

"That sounds good," Amélie had to admit, indeed feeling better imagining what Lena described to her.

"See? Just talk to me." Lena smiled at Amélie while getting up from bed and pulling her lover with her. "And now, c'mon, Blueberry. Let's hit the showers. We won't spend the entire day in bed again."

-/-

**Monterrey, Mexico, two weeks later, 1015 hours**

There was a tiny little café in a dark alley in the streets somewhere in Monterrey, a place usually only known by the locals—not the particularly wealthy ones, either. The narrow alley alone was less than inviting, created more by chance than intent between multiple old and sordid houses. The ground was dirty and covered with potholes, and the electricity and TV cables together with the clothesline ropes were almost enough to darken the bright sun in that late morning sky. Despite being small, narrow, and anything but inviting, the alley was still extremely busy, Mexicans rushing through it on old motorbikes at suicidal speeds, walking lazily while going about their day or doing business on the streets.

The café in question didn't have a front door; the entire facade was missing completely, showing a rustic, colonial age public room. The dark wooden chairs and tables all creaked when touched; they were as ancient as the bar, which was of the same wood. The only thing probably even older was a trusty ceiling fan hopelessly overwhelmed by the task of stirring the thick, cigar-smoke-filled and almost unbearably moist air around.

In the very back of the well visited and rather busy café full of loudly chatting locals, there was a small table with two especially creaky chairs that faced the wall.

A man was sitting there, alone so far. He was rather pale and definitely not from around town. If his fair skin and grey hair were no dead giveaways, he was wearing an almost cliché blue Hawaii shirt with yellow flowers imprinted on it and khaki shorts. Everything about him screamed "tourist," even the orange mirrored sunglasses he was wearing.

However, he wasn't sitting in this barely tolerable place alone for too long. A little while after he arrived and even before the young and admittedly very attractive waitress wearing next to nothing (because of the heat and the tips) could take his order, another man sat down next to him. He was wearing a long black jeans and a black sweater with the hood pulled deeply over his face.

How he didn't melt in the moist heat was a mystery to everyone who didn't know his identity.

"How aren't you boiled yet?" Morrison asked, glancing at his friend but not seeing his expression.

"I'm dead. What does it matter?" he grumbled.

"Ah. You're in  _that_  mood today. Down to business, then," Morrison said with a sigh, knowing Reyes long enough to understand the meanings of his various versions of grumpiness.

The waitress suddenly appeared out of nowhere. " _Buenos días!_ " she smiled happily, and before she could continue with even another word, Morrison held two fingers up.

" _Dos cervezas, por favor_ ," he ordered easily.

The waitress nodded with the same bright smile and was gone as quickly as she appeared.

"Before we go to the boring part, there is something," Reaper started, pausing for a few long seconds, before reaching into one of his pockets and placing a small box on the table. "Could you give that to them please? I... they should have it." He said this completely out of context, but Jack didn't need any. It was absolutely clear to him what Gabriel was talking about, especially considering where they were and what date it was. Morrison wordlessly took the small box and put it into his pocket. Horrible how it had been another year to the day again. He didn't even want to know how it must feel for Reaper to come back to the town that he had considered his home for most of his life.

"You know it won't help them move on," Jack said plainly, without being judgmental.

"How are they? I haven't seen them in so long." Reaper's voice was sad; Morrison could hear it clearly. It was hardly surprising. Gabriel had family when they started their crazy game. That was why, originally, the plan was for Morrison to be in Reaper's place now, for Jack had no one. But then, Zürich happened, and Mercy happened, and Reaper became who he was now. He did what was necessary, left everything behind and convinced the world he was dead. He left his family for the greater good. Or evil. Time would tell.

"They are fine. Your daughter is going to college this year. She is very smart and really popular from what I hear."

"Boys?" Reaper asked when the waitress showed up again, placing two cool beers in front of Reaper and Morrison.

" _Gracias,_ " the two said only slightly apart from each other.

"What do you mean boys?"

"Does she have a boyfriend yet?" Reaper asked again, this time more pressing than before. Morrison was evading. He didn't like that.

"Gabe, she is 19, I would guess so. But don't worry about it. I doubt you have to show up and feed someone shotgun shells because of that. She's a smart girl; she won't get involved with some jerk."

"I'll be the judge of that," Reaper grumbled

"Bad idea," Morrison muttered into his beer.

"And Lucía?" Gabriel asked, wanting to know how his now widow was doing. It was really weird; Morrison knew everything about his life, even the darkest parts. Reaper trusted him with his life. Yet he didn't like that Morrison knew more about his family than he did these days.

"Well..." Morrison sighed, "she married again a few month ago. Decent guy. I ran a background check for you."

"And you tell me that  _now?_ " Reaper spat, clutching his beer so tightly the bottle was probably going to burst any moment now.

"You didn't ask. Some distance was good for you."

Grumbling was all Morrison got as a response as Reaper relaxed his hand and took the cold beverage from the table, taking it to what was left of his lips. It tasted awful, but at least it was almost freezing.

"I wish I could tell them that I-" Reaper stopped talking. "But I'm dead."

"They know it, trust me, brother. And I will make sure they don't forget," he said, patting the pocket he let Reaper's box vanish into. "They will be happy to get this later when I drop by," he said, and Reaper nodded solemnly, drinking from his beer.

They were sitting like this for some time before Morrison spoke up again. "So, business talk. I'm kind of on a schedule if I want to check on your family, too."

"Time is always an issue, isn't it?" Reaper chuckled "Alright, this is the situation: I had the suspicion before but now I could actually prove it. I've found someone who knows the big boss' identity."

"Are you shitting me? Just like that?"

"Not that sudden, no. Digging that up was virtually impossible. I almost missed it, but she was right in front of my eyes the entire time. I should have known."

"Let me guess: Sombra?"

"The very same." Reaper nodded.

"That's why you wanted me to contact Katja Volskaya, right?"

"Precisely. And before you ask: her intel is good. She saves everything she sees and hears in special data cores in her brain. All we have to do is wait for her to bail. Volskaya agreed to help us out, didn't she?"

"Of course. She wasn't happy to be blackmailed in the first place, but she couldn't deny an old friend a favor either. She will contact me should Sombra reach out to her. What makes you think she wants to leave?"

"She will, I'm certain. Sombra has been waiting for an opportunity to bail for quite some time now, and she is getting impatient now that all her preparations are completed. I just know; trust me. There is a job she has to finish, and then, she'll be on her way. "

"What kind of job?" Morrison perked an eyebrow up.

"Ah, that would be telling." Reaper shook his head, trying to cover the fact that he was woefully underinformed about this matter. Additionally, if Overwatch was prepared for the operation's consequences, it would be clear that someone had leaked the information. "I can't share what little I know. All I can tell you is that it's part of the big endgame. Really, I can't tell you; it would put me under too much suspicion if Overwatch's behavior even implied that you had some forewarning. It's pointless to force you to filter this out of your planning. In ignorance, you'll make the best decision that you could hope to make if I tell you the rest. We aren't at the end yet. This is not over."

"It isn't," Morrison agreed.

"We need to be extra careful now. I didn't get this far just to fuck up by rushing things now."

"You remember that we don't have forever. There is a deadline. The election and all that? When the current UN-General Secretary is gone, it's over for good."

"Usually, I'm the pessimistic one. You and I did shit  _way_  more complicated than this."

"Did we now?" Morrison laughed, not amused at all. "So, all we have to do is wait for Sombra now?"

"Seems like it."

"And what do we do with her once we have her? I really don't want to harbor another Talon member just because she looks lost and helpless."

"Ah, Widowmaker settling in?" Reaper wanted to know, glancing over to Jack.

"Let's not talk about that." Morrison shook his head. "Sombra. What do we do with her?"

"Well, you can ask her to share the information with you in exchange for whatever she wants and just kick her out afterward. Or you beat it out of her. I really don't care. But she has to talk. We don't really need her beyond that. Sure, she's a good hacker, but she's also very unpredictable. I never figured her out or her agenda for that matter." Reaper faced Morrison squarely and leaned toward him. "Don't trust her unless you can see her." He paused and leaned back, the chair creaking loudly. "Not even then," he growled.

"Alright. Guess that is doable, one way or another. I just hope this doesn't take too long."

"Oh, you mean longer than placing your little Brit so we could get our hands on Widowmaker?"

"It worked," Morrison stated matter of factly.

"Yes. And it took us more than a year, with ambiguous fucking results."

Morrison remained silent. Reaper's demeanor shifted, and he leaned forward. "Or do we now?" he asked.

"Athena is still mad that I overwrote her privacy protection protocols, and I'm not proud of checking some video logs either. But we know the results. It's what we hoped for. Maybe more. Most likely more."

"Sneaky." Reaper chuckled. "When I first met her, I thought she was just a total tomboy. Never thought she might actually be gay."

"Oh, you have no idea," Jack sighed while shaking his head and reaching for his beer. That was when the soldier's phone started screaming for his attention. He rolled his eyes and reached into his pocket, withdrawing the device and pressing it to his ear.

"Morrison," he said with his distinctive Commander voice, dripping with professionalism. Someone at the other end of the line was speaking rapidly. Morrison just listened and nodded from time to time.

"Well, shit" was the not-so-professional next sentence, followed by the statement that he would be there, wherever  _there_  was, as soon as possible.

"I'm afraid I have to cut this short. I need to return back to base," he said, grabbing inside one of the many pockets on his khaki shorts and tossing a few notes of cash onto the table. "Beer is on me. And don't worry, I will visit your family before going back."

"Appreciated."

-/-

**Watchpoint Gibraltar, meeting room, four days later, 0700**

Tracer was about to push the glass doors leading into the meeting room aside when she walked straight into Mercy, who was also on her way to the scheduled conference. Why it had to be at such an ungodly hour, no one knew.

"G'morning, luv," Lena yawned, waving to her best friend. The doctor smiled an exhausted smile at the other woman before pulling her back from the glass door and a little bit to the side. Sometimes, Angela felt like she was everyone's mother around here, keeping an eye out so her fosterlings wouldn't get themselves into trouble.

"Wha-" Tracer tried to ask a little overwhelmed, as Mercy placed her in front of the wall, grabbed the collar of Tracer's jacket, and straightened it determinedly. The Doc didn't give Tracer the chance to say anything and started fumbling along Lena's shirt beneath the bomber jacket. The Brit hadn't the slightest idea what was going on. Then, Angela's hands were in Lena's hair, pushing the wild, spiky strands in a certain direction.

"Stop it! What are you doing?" Tracer asked, not able to hide a faint flush on her cheeks.

" _Süße,_ you look like you had sex all night" Angela sighed. "You can't go in there looking like  _that._  What were you thinking?"

"Yeah, that's because I—"

"Hush! One would think that one of you two might grow tired at some point," Mercy said without amusement "I mean, have you even left the bed since you are back from Stuttgart?" she asked but didn't allow Lena to even answer, as she continued making Tracer rudimentarily presentable. "Good god, at least  _try_  to cover these hickeys down your neck. You look like you got molested by a bear." Angela inspected the place she tried to cover with the collar of Lena's bomber jacket once again, shook her head, and reached into the pocket of her white coat. "Seriously, what does Amélie do to you? You got bite marks there. Tell her to slow down, Jesus. She's not a Vampire, right?" Mercy sighed, pulling a little can of concealer cream with a sponge inside from the pocket and started applying the makeup to Tracer's neck.

"No, she just likes to... Well, I mean, when she has… Errr… When she is… You don't want to know the details." Tracer's face was now bright red, which was rare even when she told Angela about her amorous adventures.

"You are right. I don't. I can see the results. You come to me later for a full body check. I think your back might be in need of some treatment." Angela said, trying her best to not imagine how sex looked with those two, but failing miserably. She was sure they had only two modes: gentle, careful lovemaking and borderline- violent fucking. The  _borderline_ part being optional.

"You worry too much," Tracer tried with a one-sided smirk. She knew she was busted.

"Yes, because you don't!" Mercy insisted, finishing her job on Lena's neck. "There you go. Not entirely your complexion, but it will do. Way less obvious than those huge, red bite marks and bruises."

"Thanks, luv," Lena said with small voice.

"It was nothing,  _Süße._  You really need to take better care of yourself," Mercy said, despite knowing that her constant admonishments wouldn't change a thing.

Out of the corner of her eye Angela saw Hana Song approaching the conference room, but instead of entering, Hana walked up to the two friends.

"Sorry to interrupt you," she started, "but if you don't mind, do you have a moment, Unni?" she asked, looking at Tracer. "There is something I need to talk to you about. It's... well..." She glanced nervously at Mercy, who didn't take long to get the hint.

"I'll head inside. Don't take too long; the meeting is about to begin, alright?" Angela smiled gently before she walked away from Tracer and DVa.

"Sure thing. Save me a place, will you?" Lena called after her, before turning back to Hana. "What's on your mind?" she asked easily.

DVa was nervously chewing on her lips, looking everywhere but at Tracer. She felt the heat in her body burning her face, turning it a deep red.

This was so embarrassing, but she had promised herself that she would  _finally_ ask Lena. Hana had practiced her question a hundred times in front of the mirror to make sure that she wouldn't stutter when she wanted to ask Tracer, but now, she was just opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of water.

Tracer giggled, patting the younger girl on her back. "Oi, you don't need to be that nervous, luv. I won't bite you. Just out with it!" Lena encouraged the nervously trembling girl.

"It's a bad time for this, isn't it? We should go to the meeting," stammered. She turned around to leave, but Lena grabbed her friend by the collar of her skin-tight MEKKA combat suit and pulled her back.

"Nooope!" Tracer's curiosity was sparked; she wanted to find out what was behind all this. Now that she was thinking about it, Hana had been acting strangely around her for a while now. She just hoped that what the Korean warrior had to say wouldn't start with ' _You see, there is this girl I like..._ 'followed by descriptions of a girl strangely similar to Lena. "C'mon, talk to me. What's bothering you?"

"Unni? How do I get a boy to like me?" Hana asked, rubbing her hands together. "There is someone I like, but I don't know what to do and... can you help me?"

Lena blinked. Once. Twice. Hana indeed was talking about a boy. "Are you asking me that because of what you heard the other day?" Lena asked.

"I didn't mean to be rude!" Hana replied, waving her hands in front of herself defensively. "I just... You have a boyfriend and you are really popular and everyone likes you and you are so open and I... please tell me what to do."

For some reason, Lena didn't have the heart to tell Hana that she was so gay she couldn't even draw a straight line. The look in the younger girl's eyes—how she was placing all her hopes in Lena—she just couldn't destroy that hope. The truth was Lena didn't really know a lot about dating guys. She had never done that and never really thought about it, either. So, what to tell Hana now?

"You know, Hana, you don't have to  _get_ someone to like you. Just be yourself. Go and talk to them for a bit and just be you. You are a nice girl when you are off duty and have had the chance to unwind a bit. When there is a spark, everything else comes from that alone. Go and talk to him; show an interest in him and what he does."

"You make it sound so easy, Unni."

"It's no sorcery, luv," Lena giggled, thinking back to how she and Widow just kindof stumbled into their relationship because Tracer would not give up hope. "But Hana, whatever you do, you have to do it now. Time is crossing so many plans, especially in our business. As a wise poet once said, 'Of all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these, it might have been."

"I hadn't seen it that way," Hana confessed.

"Talk to him. There's nothing to be afraid of. You're a cute girl, Hana; I'm sure he'll like you."

"You really think so?"

Lena just nodded. "Anything else I can help you with?"

"No, you already did. Thank you so much. I needed that."

"Any day. Let's go before they start this super-important meeting without us," Tracer said, turning to the glass doors and proceeding to lead the way into the conference room. She spotted Angela and walked up to her, leaving DVa to find her own place.

The last time Lena and her best friend had been in there, Mercy had lost consciousness because of exhaustion. That was a few days after Winston had activated the Recall, many months ago. Time flew. The meeting room in the shape of a lecture hall hadn't changed since then. The fold-down chairs were still blue, and the holo-projector at the front was displaying the Overwatch insignia like it always did when it wasn't in use. Winston was shuffling through some papers, preparing for what he had to say soon.

A few other agents were already there, but most were not. There was an Indian woman, whom everyone called Symmetra, sitting in the absolute middle of the room, three pencils on the little tray table in front of her, all of which were at exactly the same distance from each other.

Lúcio was there as well, sitting in the second row to the side. He had his legs up comfortably on the chair in front of him, chatting lazily with McCree. The cowboy was sitting next to him in a similarly relaxed fashion, his hat resting on his chest

Now sitting two rows behind Lúcio and a little more to the center was DVa. She carefully kept stealing shy glances at Lúcio, intent to not let anyone notice what she was doing. Lena saw it immediately, though, and had to suppress a bemused smile.  _Now, who might the secret crush be? Gee wiz, I wonder_.

Tracer joined Mercy, who apparently had simply chosen the first seats she found. They engaged in some idle chit-chat, waiting for the briefing to start and, of course, for the missing agents to arrive. Mercy inquired about the whereabouts of Amélie, and Lena told her that she had let her girlfriend sleep, having left a note saying that she would be back soon. Angela seemed satisfied with that answer.

Hanzo and Genji were the next ones to join them. Judging from the towel still hanging around the older Shimada's neck, they had been training together. Genji greeted Angela and took the seat in front of her.

It didn't take long for the rest of the agents to show up. Zarya, Reinhardt and, of course, Torbjörn. Pharah naturally couldn't appear, as she was still bound to the wheelchair.

Winston, standing in front of everyone, carefully cleared his throat while rubbing a white cloth over his glasses, "Alright, Ladies and Gentlemen. May I have your attention please?" he started, putting his glasses back on. "There is an important matter I have to inform you about immediately. As we speak, a situation is developing in the Austrian Alps, near the German border. "

The projector showing the Overwatch insignia up until now changed its image to a map, displaying a large area somewhere in the Austrian Alps. The topographical lines were obvious indicators of just how impassable the area was. Apart from that, there was nothing really unusual about the map—at least, nothing that Tracer could see that would qualify for an emergency meeting this early in the morning.

"During the course of the last two weeks, both German and Austrian authorities have noticed an increasing power output from their automated power plants, responding to higher power demands. Now, that wouldn't be worrisome per se if not for the fact that a few hundred gigawatts of extra power have been drawn so far and the fact that, until recently, no one knew where any of it went." Winston pressed a button on the remote control he had placed on the desk before the start of the presentation, and the projector showed the next slide. "Four days ago, an Austrian technician managed to approximate the location to which all that extra power was delivered." A red circle showed up on the previous map, but all it showed was mountains. "As you can, see there is nothing there. However, the Austrian government decided to investigate. They dispatched a small research group three days ago, and so far, they have not reported back. Upon conducting further, indirect investigations and obtaining in-depth satellite scans, we were able to get some readings. Judging from thermal scans and the strong electromagnetic signatures, Athena and I came to the conclusion that there must be some kind of underground facility in the Alps." Winston showed the next image, which was the same map but with the outlines of what seemed to be an enormous underground complex.

"I have a question," Lúcio interrupted. "Why exactly are you telling us this?"

"Good question. I was just about to get into it." Winston nodded. "Yesterday the German and Austrian special task forces formed an unofficial joint operations group to investigate the situation further. They have reached out to us and asked for our help—unofficially, of course. The respective governments are still not giving their go-ahead for an official mission. So far the fate of the scientists is considered an accident."

That was exactly the moment when the door was flung open and Morrison stormed into the meeting room, stressed out, as usual.

"Seems like I came in just at the right time," he muttered.

"You did, Sir," Winston said. "I was just about to—"

"Got it," Morrison interrupted. "Listen up. This mission is a special one. Four of you will be sent to Austria as military advisors to help the task group figure out what's going on. And when I say you're going as advisors, I mean you will go ahead and confirm that there is actually a threat where all that power is drained. Our contacts within the special task forces can't act without official orders. Which they aren't getting without any proof. We don't know anything definite yet, which is why everyone is on edge. All we know for sure is that something's there. A team of twenty scientists doesn't die of the damn cold. And they are dead; we're sure of it. We could be facing Talon or even omnics. Either way, we aren't sitting this one out. We'll do the recon mission the local military needs us to do and provide the necessary proof to get the marching orders thy require. They are capable enough to take care of the rest. This is a reconnaissancemission, keep that in mind. I want the Agents Shimada, both of them, and Agents Wilhelm and Oxton geared up and ready for deployment in half an hour. Agent Dos Santos will be our field medic for this mission." He looked at Mercy, who was excitedly fidgeting in her chair, and slowed his roll. "I'm sorry, Dr. Ziegler, but you'll be sitting this one out. Dr. Laguardia told me to not put you back to active duty for some time, and I'm going to follow his recommendations. The rest of you, stand by in case things get ugly. For now, a small strike team is our best move, but we need you all ready. Alright, that's it. You have your orders."

The agents stood up and saluted quickly. "Yes, Sir!" everyone said in unison. Sometimes, in the familiar atmosphere at the Watchpoint, it was easy to forget that they were a military organization; they followed protocol.

"The mission is called operation  _Pike's Peak._ Dismissed," Morrison grunted, turning away to leave the meeting room.

"I feel left out," Angela complained when they were all getting up from their places and preparing to leave. "I want to be out there too. What if something happens? Reinhardt is always too reckless, charging in without a second thought. And Genji, what if his cybernetic systems are malfunctioning? Who will repair them? Or Hanzo? He thinks he is invincible, but he isn't! And you, Lena—"

"Oi, luv, would you shut it, please?" Lena nudged her best friend in the side. "Everyone is going to be fine. Whatever we are facing it's nothing we couldn't handle. I mean, Morrison probably just jumped at the possibility to get some action for himself and us. You worry too much."

"You always say that, and then I am the one who has to fix all of your bruises, cuts and… bullet holes…!" Panicked, she exhaled and then quickly inhaled, nearly swooning. Then, she sighed heavily, her head sinking for a second, before she composed herself enough to look back up at Tracer. "I'm worried about you, Lena. You always get yourself into trouble, and you know it."

"I will come back, and I'll be fine. Besides, it's not like Amélie would let me live if something happened to me. She'd probably revive me just to kill me again or something," Lena laughed. "That reminds me... Would you mind telling her that I have to leave? I would love to say goodbye, and, well... She is still in my quarters, and Morrison was kinda stressing a little. Don't want to anger him too much."

"You prepare yourself, and I'll see what I can do."

-/-

20 minutes later in the hangar.

Two Overwatch Orca shuttles were being prepared for their flight to an Austrian military base. Dozens of technicians made sure that the refueling procedure was working properly, that the energy-cells were loaded correctly and that all the equipment and supplies were being stored according to specifications. It was one big hustle and bustle in the middle of which the five Overwatch Agents awaited the green light. Morrison, who would come along for this mission, was barking orders around, while Reinhardt was standing in front of a small scaffold, allowing Torbjörn to make some last-minute adjustments to his impressive armor.

Genji and his brother Hanzo were sitting on a large crate of ammunition, both cross-legged and apparently meditating, while Lúcio was carrying a bag of medical supplies into one of the shuttles.

Oxton was just checking the cooling units of her plasma pistols when she heard footsteps from behind. It was just whom she had hoped for. Angela was walking up to Tracer, closely followed by Widowmaker. The assassin looked unfazed and bored as usual, but Lena noticed the spark in her golden eyes.

"Heya," Lena said, waving with a friendly smile and forcing herself not to be overjoyed to be able to say goodbye to Amélie. There were more than enough eyes around; someone would see.

Mercy didn't even get to say something before Widow did, regarding Tracer with an icy stare. "If I knew you would be gone more than you're here, I might have reconsidered coming here," she said dryly.

"Hey, it's not  _that_ bad, c'mon." Tracer smiled, not knowing what she should do with her hands. She wanted to nudge Amélie, but decided against it, instead just folding her arms awkwardly above her chronal accelerator.

"You don't have to sit around all day," Widow snorted with a shrug. A moment of heavy silence spread between them. The tension was so thick that Mercy thought she would be able to cut a piece of air out from between the two. There was so much both of them wanted to do so desperately, and it was so painfully obvious for Mercy. She could feel how torturous it was for the couple to stand so close to each other and yet so far away.

"Don't you dare to come back with a scratch I didn't put on you," Widow said quietly.

"Awww, you know me. I'm indestructible." Lena winked at Amélie, who suddenly reached out and grabbed Tracer's hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze and stroking the back with her thumb. She continued for maybe a moment longer than was strictly necessary, and Tracer blushed fiercely.

"I'll be careful. I promise, ok?" Lena said in a more serious voice. "Don't worry about me, luv," she added, and Amélie let go of Tracer's hand, allowing the Brit to turn around and rush off toward the shuttle.

" _Merci,_ " Widow said, looking after Lena.

"You don't have to thank me. I understand," Mercy told her.

A deep voice cleared his throat behind them. "I, speaking for myself, do not understand." Reinhardt, whose armor was apparently complete now, appeared next to them, standing in between Mercy and Widow. "You might have Angela fooled for reasons I don't know, but let me tell you this: You don't have me fooled for a second. I know what kind of woman you were, and you haven't changed one bit. Your entire memory loss— I don't buy it. You are just the same as you were before Talon. You will leave Lena alone! She is too smart to fall for you a manipulative wench like you! And if I see you touching her again, I will smash your head with my hammer like a pumpkin," Reinhardt said plainly, glaring at Widowmaker with pure contempt. The assassin just stared back with the deadly gaze she was now known for.

"You would hit a lady?" she asked, without a hint of emotion in her voice but not without a teasing lilt.

She wouldn't allow the whirlwind of emotional pain and confusion his words caused her to show on the outside. She would not grant him that satisfaction.

"The hammer of justice is unisex," Reinhardt replied after being taken aback for a short moment. His surprise may have resulted from Amélie's snarky comment or perhaps from the suggestive glance Mercy gave him.

"You will leave your hammer in the armory where it belongs, you big fool," Torbjörn said, also joining them. Angela was surprised that she didn't have to do a lot of talking this time around. "I told you before; I'll tell you again. She didn't do anything wrong. When will that finally sink into your brain? Now, would you kindly get on that shuttle? They're all waiting for you."

Reinhardt just grumbled something unintelligible and walked away, swinging his huge hammer over his shoulder and boarding one of the shuttles.

"Sorry for that," Torbjörn sighed, stroking through his beard.

"Hardly your fault now, is it?" Amélie shrugged, but Torbjörn just shook his head.

"And that's where you're wrong." He said, exchanging a look with Angela.

Widowmaker didn't react at first. Not a single muscle in her face moved; she didn't blink, didn't flinch—nothing. She just stood there for a few moments, apparently thinking about something. "Alright." She started inhaling deeply. "I will ask this once now, and I want an answer," she said before almost yelling, "What the fuck is going on?! Why is everyone talking about me like they know me?" she grabbed Torbjörn at his shoulder and lifted him up into the air with absolute ease, shaking him violently. "I get the feeling everyone around here knows me better than I do! What happened? And why is everyone telling a different story! First Mercy here tells me that there was a time when she wasn't certain if I joined Talon voluntarily, then you come around, telling me that nothing of whatever happened was my fault, and now this ass here makes it sound like I was evil from the very beginning. Would someone care to tell me what the fuck is wrong? What are you talking about?!" Widow glared into Torbjörns from shock wide open eyes. "Who the hell am I?! Or who was I?! What is wrong with me!? I can't remember, for crying out loud! Why do you say it's your fault? What's your fault!? Spill it! I'm so sick and tired of fumbling in the dark! I can't fucking remember!"

"Amélie!" Mercy called out, putting a hand on her shoulder

"What?!" she hissed, spinning her head around to give a piercing stare to Angela.

"Please! Calm down. We'll tell you all we know, ok? But please, just let go of Torbjörn." Widow blinked, obviously confused, looked back at Torbjörn and seemed to just now notice that she had grabbed him and lifted him off the ground. She quickly put him back down, stepping back a little bit.

"I... apologize," she said uncomfortably.

"You are pretty strong for a woman of your slender stature." Trobjörn laughed and walked off, waving both Mercy and Widowmaker to follow him. "Let's talk somewhere a bit more comfortable."

The place the engineer had in mind was the cafeteria, since there was not really a better place to sit together. Maybe the bar could have done, but it was too early in the day to go there.

The trio searched for an empty table and sat down, Widowmaker looking back and forth between Mercy and Torbjörn, expecting them to say something.

"You know that you killed your husband, right?" Torbjörn started, not beating around the bush.

" _Oui._  But that's it. I don't really remember anything more."

"Amélie, are you sure you want to talk about this?" Angela asked carefully, worry written on her face. "Some things might be better left forgotten."

Widowmaker shook her head decisively. "I need to know this. I feel like so much is connected to it."

Torbjörn looked at Mercy who nodded ever so slightly, giving him the go-ahead. "We talked about this a little bit already. Gerard, your husband… He wasn't good to you." Torb started and Angela heard herself snort loudly.

"He was an abusive bastard. He hit you, mistreated you badly, terrorized you. He was a horrible human being," Mercy said.

"Yes." Torbjörn nodded. "But here is the problem: no one knew about this. Gerard was a master of deception. He somehow managed to keep everyone convinced that you two lived a happy life and had the perfect marriage. He took you along to official events, and you looked as radiant as always. You followed him around and didn't talk a lot, so people thought you were a bit arrogant—pretty, but arrogant. I thought so. It wasn't until much later that I figured out why you didn't say a word and didn't dare to leave his side."

Widow was clenching her fists together, uncomfortable images flashing through her mind. What Torbjörn was saying felt like the truth. She felt his words connect to so many small fragments scattered across her badly damaged memory.

"I know this because I saw it happening. I had to go to your apartment for something, I don't remember what it was anymore. It's not really important now anyway. When I got there, the door was open for some reason. So, I just walked inside, thinking something might be wrong. And it was, though I never would have guessed that  _this_ was what was wrong… I heard someone scream and found you two in the kitchen. Your husband was beating you with his belt, yelling at you, kicking you. You were preparing a cake or something. The dough was all over the floor together with some broken bottles of oil and stuff. It was horrible. You were just lying there in the middle of that chaos, curled up in a fetal position, crying, apologizing and begging for Gerard to stop, but he was still kicking at you. He did it because you wanted to make a cake for your neighbor," Torbjörn explained, his eyes staring into the distance as he relived that day again. He had liked Gerard before that day, trusted him, thought he was a good soldier and an honorable man. That image of him shattered on that day and was beyond repair. "I never beat someone up as badly as I did Gerard Lacroix on that afternoon. Thought that was enough. Wasn't. Should have killed him in your stead." He took a deep breath. "I wanted to take you to the doctor, but you didn't let me. You said you were fine and that it wasn't as bad as it looked. You were shaking and both you and I knew that it wasn't the truth, but what was I supposed to do? I made you promise that you would fight back the next time he tried something and that you would come straight to me. If I had known that you gave me a classic reply for a victim of constant abuse, I would have dragged you out of there, but I had no idea."

Amélie blinked, swallowing heavily, bits and pieces from that day flashing into her memory again. She had the smell of the cake in her nose and then only pain. The taste of blood in her mouth and a pair of evil green eyes. Someone was faintly yelling at Gerard, but it was just a distant echo despite the pure rage the voice contained. "I... don't remember. But it feels familiar." She was getting more and more nervous and anxious with every word Lindholm spoke, and it showed. Nervous Widowmaker was never a good idea to have around, no matter what, but there was no other option now. Mercy knew it was a mistake to talk about this without Lena nearby, but it was too late now. "Did I contact you again?" asked Amélie.

"You did," Mercy replied for Torbjörn. "A few weeks later, Torbjörn brought you to me. You were limping badly but trying to play everything down. When I checked you, your body was covered in bruises and scars, some older and some very fresh. Two of your ribs were broken that day. I patched you up and asked who did this to you. You insisted you fell down the stairs, but I kept asking. You were very evasive at first, but eventually I managed to get you to at least tell me that someone did this to you. I tried to find out who, but you didn't want to tell me. I was really worried for you, you know? But you told me that you already found a way to help yourself. That you are going to leave everything behind you. You said that you found powerful friend who would protect you now and also a way that he could never hurt you again. You didn't talk about it much, and at the time I didn't think asking a lot of questions either, but..."

"... Then, I was abducted by Talon, came back, and killed my husband before vanishing."

"Yes. I know it was wrong, but I thought that was your way out. It seemed logical. A part of me felt guilty for blaming you."

Widowmaker nodded slowly. "And what about Rein? Why does he think I always was evil?"

"He caught you in a bad moment," Torbjörn replied, "and based his whole judgment on that. The old hothead."

-/-

_Flashback, Watchpoint Gibraltar:_

_"I know exactly what you were trying to do!" Gerard's voice echoed through the hallway. "You tried to betray me! Everything we are and stand for! I can never forgive you for this! You better hope no one will ever find out about this, or we are ruined. You get that? It's all your fault! You have to make everything complicated with your antics!"_

_Reinhardt looked at Torbjörn, the two of them returning from a mission together. They had heard the fragments of a heated argument when they left the shuttle bay, but as they kept walking, the voices got clearer, their disagreement more understandable and the participants obvious._

_"You shut your mouth!" Amélie yelled, not realizing that this was the moment Reinhardt and Torbjörn came around the corner. "I've had enough of you and your madness! Don't you dare and try to stop me, I swear to god, if you even think about getting in my way I will not hesitate to cut your throat while you sleep, I don't care anymore! I'd rather go to jail for the rest of my life than face the alternative!" she yelled and smacked him across the face as hard as she could, before spinning around._

_"What is the meaning of this?!" Reinhardt roared._

_"Not your fucking problem,_ enfoire! _" Amélie hissed with a sour voice, rushing past him while turning her face away. She was close to tears and trembling all over her body but didn't want anyone to see how shaken she truly was. She didn't want anyone to see how Gerard made her feel. She didn't want to be weak._

_"She is a total lunatic!" Gerard exclaimed, turning around and leaving._

_"I never liked that woman, Torb. She is dangerous."_

_"No, she isn't. We should look at Gerard more closely."_

_"To protect_ him? _I will defend my comrade in arms at all cost."_

_"You idiot, he is the one who abuses Amé, not the other way around." Torbjörn growled._

_Reinhardt hesitated for a moment, thinking about the possibility of Torbjörn being right. He quickly had to dismiss the whole idea, Gerard was a man of honor. A knight of virtue, Reinhardt was sure of it. They fought together and bled together. To deceive a comrade in times of war was dishonorable. And Gerard wasn't dishonerable._

_"My small friend, Gerard is an honorable warrior and comrade of mine. I know what I just saw. I trust Gerard with my life! We must find out what preparations this woman made! His life might be in grave danger!" Reinhardt announced this, before he walked off, leaving a completely baffled Torbjörn behind_

_"how can you be this dense, friend?" he mumbled into his beard._

_-/-_

"Let me guess?" Amélie breathed, her hands rubbing over the thighs of her pants.

"Yes, that was the day before you were abducted." Mercy nodded. "When you came back and murdered Gerard, it was just like you told him you would. You slit his throat in his sleep."

" _Merde,_ " Widow whispered. "What if he is right? What if I really am evil and did all that on purpose?"

"You didn't." Torbjörn said. "When we searched Gerard's and your apartment when you both were... gone... we found a packed suitcase full of your stuff, a ticket to Canada and some papers provided by a Canadian domestic violence help organization. You bought a small hut with their help, and they were about to get you out of there. One more day, and nothing would have happened to you."

"Oh," was all Amélie managed to say. "Does Lena know anything about this?"

Mercy shook her head. "She doesn't. She was still flying for the air force when that happened."

"I see," Widow said, pausing for a moment. Her mouth opened and closed once, she, herself, obviously not so sure what to say. Her head was hurting—something was on the verge of coming back to her—but she felt like it was about to slip from her mind again. " _Merci._ I have to be alone for a little bit. Excuse me," she added, getting up from her chair with her characteristic sublime grace and slowly walked away without another word, not caring if she was allowed to go or not.

"Let her go." Mercy said to Torb, before the latter could speak up. "She won't murder anyone... I hope."

"You  _hope?_ " Torbjörn deadpanned, but Mercy just gave him a blank stare, which drew the mechanic into raising his hands in abdication. Torbörn watched as Widowmaker vanished from their sights, the swing of her hips the last thing he saw. He turned to Mercy, furrowing a brow "Why did she want to know if Lena was aware of this story?"

"Just forget she ever said that," Mercy said plainly, not looking at him.

"Ohh boy..."

-/-

**Austria, airbase Hinterstoisser, temporary center of command for Operation Pikes Peak, fifteen hours later**

The two Orca shuttles made a tight turn before touching the old concrete ground surrounded by various hangars. Dust from the ground whirled up into the air, blasting across the airbase as the engines of the shuttles were still at full thrust, gently setting the Ocra's down onto the surface. The dust cleared quickly because of the chilly mountain winds.

The engines of the massive transport vessels were killed and slowly came to a stop, the high pitched whirring they emitted becoming more and more dull before eventually fading away completely. The flight had been a long one, but the Overwatch team was perfectly on time.

The soldiers at the base were a little curious about the new arrivals and did glance over to the shuttles, especially when the Orcas' hatches opened. The agents of Overwatch disembarked one after another, stretching, happy to finally breath fresh air and stretch their legs for a little. Reinhardt, however, was already carrying some crates of equipment.

Agent Oxton was taking in the picture that presented itself to her for a moment while Morrison was busy organizing the unloading procedure. The airbase was extremely busy; soldiers clad in black uniforms were running around, following their orders. The feeling of hecticness was in the air mixed with a sizzling feeling of uncertainty and nervousness. Something bad was going to happen.

The tension was almost tangible. It was awfully quiet despite all the ruckus going on, and the sky was murky with dark thunderclouds.

"You feel it, as well?" Hanzo said, appearing next to Tracer.

"Yeah," she nodded, "this is going to be... interesting."

"So is your choice of words," Hanzo countered, shaking his head with a small smirk. That was what he liked about working at Overwatch. The people who fought alongside him were just as keen on combat as he was.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed two figures approaching, both of them apparently part of the airbase personnel. They were wearing dark uniforms, one black, one a dark grey; the only blobs of color on their uniforms were their red berets and the badges of rank on their shoulders—two officers, it seemed. They were walking at a fast pace and followed the military drill down to the last detail. The way they were walking alone made one thing obvious: they had spent the majority of their lives in the military.

"Glad to see you have finally arrived," one of the two said once they stood in front of each other. "I'm Oberst Winterer from the Austrian  _Jagdkommandos_. This is my German colleague Major Schmitt from the  _Gebirgsjäger_. He and his men will be supporting this mission." Winterer had a cold, professional tone to him, one that perfectly showed his no-nonsense attitude.

"Pleased to meet you," Tracer said with a friendly smile. "I'm Agent Oxton. And this is the team you requested: agents Shimada, Wilhelm and Correia dos Santos. Let me get Commander Morrison for you."

"Thank you."

Tracer smiled, pulled her hand out of her glove and put two fingers into her mouth, before whistling loudly. She easily got Morrison's attention, the commander had been conversing with Reinhardt about something up until that moment.

"Come over 'ere boss! The brass wants to talk to you!" she shouted, smiling at the two officers who were looking at her funnily. They seriously needed to loosen up a little. How can anyone work with a stick up their arses like they obviously had?

"Commander, a pleasure," Winterer said, saluting quickly. Morrison returned the gesture.

"Have you been updated about the mission parameters?" Schmitt wanted to know.

"Not to the full extent. We know you requested us via unofficial channels as advisors to take a closer look at what appears to be some kind of factory. And we both know what you had in mind when you asked about advisors, especially considering the legal status of this mission."

"You certainly did your homework, Commander."

"That's the job of people like you and me, isn't it?" Morrison grinned, knowing that two military persons were absolutely able to see eye-to-eye about these matters.

The Major coughed, but nodded. "I suppose that's the case. To be blunt with you, Commander, advisory positions aren't really what we need you for—that is definitely true. You see, this mission is not exactly  _official_ yet. No one in the ministry of defense gave their clear go-ahead so far; we are lacking critical information."

"We were made aware of that little problem," Tracer added with a shrug and Winter sighed. Schmitt took over for him.

"So, despite the fact that a few hundred well-trained and well-equipped soldiers are just waiting for their go, we can't do much. Especially the  _Gebirgsjäger_ , since we are merely guests."

"Oh, let me guess," Tracer rolled her eyes and sighed deeply. "But what a bunch of civilians, who just happen to be armed, do in the mountains is absolutely beyond your control?"

"Oxton!" Morrison admonished with a hiss. This girl and her loose mouth...

"Sorry, boss," Lena muttered, looking away awkwardly.

"Actually, we were thinking something along those lines, Agent Oxton," Winter said apologetically. "I really hope you are still going to help us. The situation is not looking well. Not one bit."

Morrison looked at Tracer and noticed that she was glancing into the round of her comrades, just to make sure they all were on the same page. Morrison had to admit that the Brit had become an excellent field officer. Her command style was different from his, but it worked. He was proud of her. She was an excellent second-in-command for this mission and her reaction proved just that. She considered the opinion of her comrades. Sure, technically she could have ordered them to do what she wanted; everyone was aware of that. Morrison was. Tracer was and the team was, too. Morrison would just have to agree and Tracer would get everyone going. But that wasn't Lena's style. People worked better when they actually agreed on what they were doing.

What she saw was what she expected. Nods and approval. Lena also nodded slightly, just to let the Commander know they were all in on this.

"How do we get to the location?" Morrison asked, not bothering with accepting the mission.

"We were hoping that you'd coordinate your team from the control center here, Commander. We have prepared two helicopters to be used at your discretion. They will bring your team as close to the landing zone as possible. Your job is to get inside and gather information: who built the factory, what the damn thing produces, and what happened to the scientists. If you encounter problems, we don't expect you to fight them off on your own. Pull out immediately once that happens and inform us about it. The information should be enough to give us official marching orders."

"You got it. Point the way, then." Tracer smiled cheerfully. She was totally looking forward to some action again. The mission to Stuttgart just hadn't satisfied her thirst for adventure.

-/-

It had been a while since Lena sat inside a true, old-fashioned helicopter. With the introduction of jump jets, the technology was left forgotten for the most part. Still, they had their advantages; most countries with lots of mountains preferred the smaller and more nimble helicopters over VTOL aircrafts. Austria was no exception, flying the latest model available on the military market.

The black helicopter maneuvered nimbly through the difficult terrain, the pilot expertly evading the deadly rocks below them at ridiculously high speeds. That guy had  _definitely_ done this before, nd given the altitude he was flying, he surely wasn't doing it the first time.

Tracer was a good pilot—some might have said one of the best fighter-aces the air force ever had—but she was not so certain that she could have pulled this kind of flying off. The Austrian pilots were obviously trained for extreme low altitude operations in the mountains. A completely suicidal activity in itself, and these guys were apparently crazy enough to even enjoy it. Lena liked them already.

She wondered if the pilots who had dropped off Genji and Hanzo half an hour earlier were also this crazy. The answer was probably yes. Lena still thought it was a questionable decision to send the two brothers up ahead to do some preliminary scouting of the facility. They should have stayed as a group. Sure, it would have meant that no one would have gone to find the surveillance control room and that they would be moving blind through a likely hostile facility, but their combat power would also have been much greater. But Morrison decided that information and stealth would be better for this mission, and Tracer was soldier enough to not question the orders of her commander. Thus, Genji and Hanzo were probably somewhere deep inside the facility by now, and if all things went well, were hiding inside a control room.

Lena smiled at the thought of Hanzo pressed into a closet as his hiding spot.

"30 seconds 'til touchdown," the announcement of their pilot came from the speakers as the machine was making a tight turn around a rugged crag, forcing the passengers to hold on to their support bars for dear life. Tracer's smile vanished pretty quickly.

"15." the machine was rapidly losing speed.

"Touchdown! Good luck, people."

"Thanks for the lift, luvs!" Oxton jumped out of the helicopter followed by Reinhardt and Lúcio. They immediately vacated the landing zone, while the helicopter accelerated away, whirling up dry dust in a large cloud.

"So what's the situation now?" Reinhardt asked once the team was together, hiding behind a large formation of rocks. There was a small, rocky path nearby.

Lúcio was unfolding a map; he did prefer actual physical items over projections. The wind was a little bothersome for it kept pulling on the paper of the map, but they managed to hold it down. "We are currently somewhere here." He pointed at a location on the map. "The entrance to the factory we are looking for should be nearby, just along that path. Try contacting Genji."

Tracer nodded and pressed a finger to her ear. "Com-check. Alpha team, come in." There was a moment of silence in which Lena furrowed her brow. "Alpha team, do you read me? Genji? Hanzo? Are you there?" She waited another moment, but no one replied.

"Communications are dead; there is no signal. I guess they're too far inside the mountain and can't get a connection." She said, while Reinhardt nodded in agreement. The scans of the factory alrady indicated its sheer size, so depending on where the first team was, it was more than realistic that radio contact was simply impossible. Massive rocks were usually not conducive to radio communications.

"Do we know anything about external surveillance systems?" Lena asked.

"No. We have to be moving carefully and hope that we can make radio contact once we approach the entrance to the factory." Reinhardt said. "I'll take the lead. Follow me, my friends."

Indeed, the entrance to the factory was not three minutes away from the location they had been dropped off. At first glance, the opening leading into a cave was easy to miss, but once they all walked inside, their path was soon blocked by an enormous, red metal wall.

This was definitely the place, the entrance to the underground factory they had been looking for. So far, there was no surveillance system visible. Strange.

Each step echoed inside the small cave until shortly after the agents of Overwatch stopped in front of the large metal door in their way. Tracer was definitely impressed by the enormous size of the front door alone.

"And how do we get inside there?"

"Knock and ask kindly isn't an option, I guess?" Lúcio shrugged.

Reinhardt laughed. "Knocking is a good cue. Step back, my friends!" He said, swinging his massive hammer. If it wasn't for Lena putting her hand up to stop him, he would have crushed the door underneath his brutal weapon.

"The scientists did get inside somehow. They didn't come equipped with a hammer, Rein. Neither did Genji and Hanzo. We want to gather intel. Can't do that if the whole country hears us coming."

"I hate it when she is right," Reinhardt muttered. "Any luck with contacting our Japanese comrades?"

"I'll try it again," Lúcio said. "Alpha team, this is Bravo. Come in, please."

Static cracking noises was all their ear-pieces spouted for a second, but then, the noise cleared out and there was a voice. It could have been clearer, but it was still perfectly understandable. "We thought you might have forgotten about us."

"Hanzo. Good to hear from you. No, we didn't forget about you. But we couldn't get through to you with all that rock around." Lúcio replied. "Listen, how exactly did you get through the door?" Lúcio asked and glanced over to Tracer, who was looking at the metal wall and noticed that there was a normal sized door incorporated into it.

"Most obstacles only exist in our mind," Hanzo said mysteriously.

Lúcio frowned, but Tracer just smirked and carefully pushed the handle of the door down.

It swung open.

"Of all the things I  _didn't_ expect, this might just take the cake." Tracer blinked twice, just to make sure that she wasn't seeing things. The door leading into the secret complex, however, was indeed open.

"That's what we thought, too," Hanzo's bodiless voice replied.

"Wait a second, my friend. Are you telling us that you also found the door open?" Reinhardt wanted to know.

"That we did."

"Ok, I'll just go ahead and ask this now. Why exactly would you leave the door to your super-secret underground  _whateverthisis_  unlocked?" Lúcio asked curiously.

"Either because whoever built this facility didn't expect it to be found or because the scientists opened the door for us before they vanished," Lena provided. The group was standing around the now open entrance, all of them looking at it with some suspicion apparent on their faces.

"Or this is one huge-ass trap." Lúcio murmured rather quietly, not really wanting anyone to hear that thought. He didn't like the idea himself.

"Whatever it is," Hanzo's voice said, "it's brand new. My brother says the systems here are of the finest quality."

"Are there surveillance systems?" Lena asked.

"There are, but we managed to loop them, except for one rather large area. Genji is still working on getting access. We will keep you updated."

"Alright." Lena nodded. "We gain nothing from standing around here," she said and stepped through the open door.

The room behind the metal gate was a stark contrast to the rough, uneven and damp cave outside. Smooth, grey concrete covered the walls, the ceiling and the floor. The air was parched, and apparently, light wasn't really a thing here. The small room behind the door was merely lit by a few red emergency lights, providing a bare minimum of illumination. From that central room, a lot of different corridors spread out at an angle into different directions. They all led deeper underground.

"Where to, Bravo?" Reinhardt asked, looking at each of the different ways with some suspicion. The feeling he got here was not an overly positive one. Yes, he had a bad feeling about this; something was off about this whole thing.

"We have a pretty good overview over the facility by now," Genji replied. "But, as Hanzo said before, we still need access to one specific area. Please follow the second corridor to your left. We don't know what's going on there and it leads into a rather large hall, which we also have no visual access to."

"Gotcha," Lena said, and started walking down the path, followed by their two companions. Their steps were echoing loudly, and the shadows cast by the dim lights were almost ghost-like. Faint humming and buzzing were audible, loud enough to be impossible to ignore but too hushed to be prominent.

The whole place was disquieting. It was obviously brand new. The concrete was freshly polished, and there was not a grain of dust lying around. The place even smelled new, which wasn't exactly comforting Lena, either. Who built this facility, and why?

Lena's communicator emitted a short static noise, followed by someone talking. " _Com-check,_ " Hanzo's bodiless voice said. " _Tracer, Reinhardt, do you copy?_ "

"We hear you, Hanzo. Status?"

" _Genji tried to bypass some security measures and hot-wired the wrong cables. He was afraid that our radios might have been destroyed. This is not the case._ "

"And here I thought Genji was our master ninja."

" _I never said I was. I am also merely average when it comes to electronics._ "

"Just teasing you, luv. Say, what's inside the rooms you have access to? Do you see anything interesting on those cameras?"

 _"We found a storage room filled with sheets of what Genji says is titanium. I don't know how he wants to distinguish titanium from stainless steel in this light, but he insists. There is another room with approximately a million screws, one which contains miles of rolled cables, one with glass planes and so on._ "

"So, it  _is_ a production plant for something" Reinhardt concluded.

" _Definitely appears this way_ " Genji's voice cut in.

"Any idea on what is being built here?"

" _No. But it's made from metal,_ " Hanzo said and Lena could basically hear the archer rolling his eyes.

"I don't like this," Tracer replied, "not one bit. Be on your guard."

" _Understood._ "

Tracer, Lúcio and Reinhardt proceeded to walk down the corridor. They cleared multiple rooms on either side of this hall, and they left those rooms as they found them: utterly empty. After the first five completely vacant rooms, they gave up on opening each door like there was something behind it about to attack them. After ten or so more doors, the two agents stopped opening them altogether. The rooms behind them were all the same. Completely empty.

One thing, however, did change. The further they walked down the hallway, the louder and more prominent the whirring background noise got. They were definitely closing in on  _something._  Whatever that was.

"Say, Rein, do you have the same weird feeling I have? Or am I completely paranoid?" Lena asked, but she noticed that her comrade was not walking next to her anymore. She turned around and found him and Lúcio standing a few steps behind her in front of a closed door, staring at the floor right in front of it.

"Oi, what's up?" she asked and hurried back to them. It didn't take her long to figure out where Rein had been staring. The floor was spotless, like it had been the entire time they had walked down the corridor.

But underneath the door, a pool of red liquid was coming forth.

Lena exchanged a glance with Reinhardt, who was moving into position on the right side of the door, with Lúcio standing behind him. Tracer stood on the other side, using her fingers to count down from three. Once she hit the mark, she pushed the door open and quickly ducked out of the way for Reinhardt to charge in.

He stopped two steps into the room and Lena also froze behind him.

The whole room was buzzing, the sound of hundreds of startled flies, all hurriedly interrupting their meal.

The smell inside the room was abhorrent. Decaying flesh was never pleasant, but this felt like one of the worst stenches that ever filled Lena's nostrils.

The lights were dim, but that didn't mean they couldn't see the approximately ten bodies, all hanging from the ceiling like pigs in a macabre slaughter house. The science team. Hung from meat-hooks, upside down, with what little was left of their eviscerated bodies having been riddled with bullets.

Lena quickly ducked out of the small room again, soon followed by Reinhardt and Lúcio. The stench was not bearable, and their faces had paled considerably. Especially the Brazilian musician and medic seemed to have lost all of his chocolate color.

"We found some of the scientists. Not all of them. But... a few. No idea where the rest is." Lena said, pressing a finger to the earpiece of her communicator.

" _That is good news. How is their condition?_ " Hanzo's bodiless voice asked.

"Food for the flies" was Reinhardt's reply, uttered under his breath, his eyes fixed to the clean concrete wall opposite to him. He had seen his fair share of gore and bloodshed in his life as a knight and warrior. That didn't mean it ever got easier. Seeing those scientists, those poor  _civilians_  slaughtered, butchered, torn apart and hung from the ceiling like that... it wasn't easy. He didn't want to think about it too much.

"Nothing we can do for them now," Lena stated numbly, sliding her goggles off to rub the image now engraved into her eyes away. "Let's move forward. How are things on your end?"

" _Genji just cracked some encrypted files and is downloading them now. Appears to be schematics of some sort. Something is definitely being built here, but other than that, so far nothing interesting. We'll stay in contact_."

"Understood. Keep your guard up." Lena replied before terminating the connection. She didn't like the direction this mission was going. Not one bit. Every fiber of her body was telling her that they were  _very_ close to discovering something seriously bad. Bad as in not just a room full of corpses reminiscent of Swiss cheese.

"Lúcio, I want you to go back to the entrance and contact Oberst Winterer. Tell him that we found parts of the science team. Handle the extraction of the bodies, once they arrive, ok?"

"Yes, Ma'am!" Lúcio saluted quickly and took off, back to where they all came from.

Oxton and Wilhelm exchanged a brief glance, knowing that both of them were thinking the exact same thing. They didn't need to verbalize the fact; instead, they silently agreed to move on. There was nothing they could do for the scientists anymore.

The two agents carefully moved deeper into the facility, wondering how and why the scientists ended up in that storage room. It was weird. Something didn't fit together here; not at all. There must have been a reason for their brutal murder. But what was it? And why had they been hung from the ceiling? The facility seemed completely abandoned. Not a single soul was here except for the Overwatch agents. Who had put the scientists into that room? There was neither blood nor other evidence that the bodies were carried there. Did that mean the poor souls had been executed in that room? But there were no bullet holes in the walls. It didn't make sense.

As they were walking, both of them lost in their own thoughts, the humming and whirring sounds in the background got more and more prominent. The strange noise was accompanied by a rhythmic metallic smashing sound, similar to a huge metal press in automated forges.

The hallway soon ended in front of a heavy metal bi-parting sliding door, the strange forge-like noise now louder than ever before.

"Alpha, come in please."

" _We hear you._ "

"There is a huge door in front of us, but it's locked."

"I'd say we found something important," Reinhardt said, inspecting the door.

" _We are working on it; please be patient for a moment. This is the area we wanted you to inspect. There are no cameras in there._ "

It took Genji around twenty minutes before he spoke up again.

" _Try it now. But be careful, we have no idea what's behind that door._ "

"As long as it's not even more dead scientists," Reinhardt grumbled, walking up to the huge portal with his energy shield up and running. The two massive metal halves parted and slid open with a loud hissing noise. Lena followed closely behind Reinhardt, looking through the shield, curious what would be on the other side.

They both froze in place, once the metal obstacle gave way and let them see what it had been hiding. Lena's legs refusing to move because of what she saw. Her eyes were wide from shock, her brain not able to make her body  _move._

What lay before her was nothing other than a gigantic production plant. For Omnics. An illegal Omnium, the largest one Lena had ever seen. Even the few legal ones paled in comparison to the underground complex. Hundreds if not thousands of robots were being assembled in dozens of production lines in the background. Robotic arms were busy holding components for others to weld, sparks dripping or flying all over the place , while huge metal hammers pressed flat metal sheets into specific shapes.

More robots than Lena could have counted.

"Alpha team. We have a problem," Reinhardt said after he found his voice again. He walked two steps into the enormous hall. They were standing on a balcony that wound above and around the entire hall, maybe twenty meters up in the air. It allowed them a vantage on the entire plant, which, itself, was large enough to swallow an entire battleship whole and let it vanish. The heat from the blast furnaces, melting metal for the omnics, was wafting through the hall in waves like fire, and the sound of the welding and stamping was a painful perturbance in the ears.

" _We see it through Rein's helmet camera, what's-_   _Ki o tsukete!_ " Hanzo shouted. His voice was followed by the roaring of a gun.

"Hanzo?!" Tracer yelled but was interrupted.

There was a metallic sound behind Tracer.

She and Reinhardt spun around, and came face first with a certain kind of omnic. Three of them. Their purple paintjob almost as obvious as their profile.

_Bastion._

_Null Sector._

Lena's mind was racing to find cover, but the way back out of the door was blocked by the bots. Two of them had already transformed into sentry formation. Time slowed down to a fraction of reality. Lena heard Reinhardt yell to get behind his shield as she leaped backwards. She was aware of the blue energy field closing down to the floor, as she skidded behind Rein's shield. While doing so, Lena reached to her back where she grabbed one of her pulse bombs and threw it into the three Bastions.

The explosion shattered them into thousand pieces, before Lena hit the handrail on the balcony with her back. She quickly got up and turned around just to see that there were more Bastion's on the other side of the balcony. Rein's shield was facing the wrong way now.

She wanted to call out for Rein, but the words didn't leave her mouth fast enough.

The next thing she heard was the roaring of multiple Gatling guns, followed by all-numbing pain. She tried to concentrate on her accelerator, trying to use her ability to revert her own time to a few seconds prior, but as she did so, she only felt a painful electrical rush through her body.

Reality around her started to blur and dissolve for but an instant.

She stumbled.

And her world turned dark.

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> "Ah. How long did that take you again, Patate?"
> 
> -Amélie you know exactly why I took so long.
> 
> "Do I now?"
> 
> -You do and you also know whose fault it is.
> 
> "..."
> 
> -Sorry. I'll make it up to you later.
> 
> "Dinner?"
> 
> -Yes, dinner. And tell Lena she can come, too.
> 
> "Hm. I might like you a little bit after all."
> 
> Heh... oh well, I know she does. Whatever. Sorry I kept you waiting for this long again, but life is fucking crazy. Just so you people know, I don't want to take this long, but there are just no other options for me.
> 
> I know you all want updates more frequently, but I promise, I am doing the best I can. If you beg for updates in the reviews, all you do is make me feel really guilty. I want to give you more so badly, but I just can't.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and if I can find a new, competent, nice Beta-reader, I would be very happy :)
> 
> As always, thank you all so very much for all that support. You all are absolute rockstars for me and I still cannot believe that this story has seriously hit the top spot on FFN. Like... wow. How did that happen, I have no idea. I was just messing around and all of a sudden... THANK YOU!
> 
> "Patate, can Lena bring Angela along?"
> 
> -Uhhh... sure? Oh and get that grin off your face!
> 
> "You are so cute when you turn red"
> 
> -I'll poison your food, I swear...
> 
>  
> 
> -/-
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Gebirgsjäger (German) = (literal: mountain hunters) Wing of the German special forces, specialized on mountain combat
> 
> Jagdkommandos (German) = (literal: Hunter commandos) Austrian special forces
> 
> Ki o tsukete = (Japanese)= Watch out!


	34. Chapter 34

_Personal notes for medical report 7962, patient file #OW-WPG-1337 – Amélie 'Widowmaker' Lacroix_

_Attending physician: Dr. med. Angela Ziegler_

_-confidential-_

_/beginning of audio recording..._

_I completed the first set of treatments for Amélie yesterday. The whole procedure went rather well, but I am worried for her. The fact that Lena wasn't around to support her for this was not beneficial for Amélie's anxiety, but we agreed that it was best to start as soon as possible. After the checkup last week, I decided to start with removing some of the minor implants. The fact that Amélie manages to hide her fear and nervousness to a point where I almost missed it is worrisome. Future procedures are probably best done with Lena around._

_As for this first treatment, the removal of several minor implants was successful. Amélie's metabolism should be able to adapt to those minor changes quickly. An increased appetite is to be expected._

_Upon closer examination, I was able to confirm what I suspected at first. Her heart was too heavily enhanced to revert Talon's changes. I discussed this problem with her and did mention that there would be other options, like donor hearts or even artificial ones, but Amélie refused. I did tell her that this would mean that she will have to keep her skin color. Even though she didn't provide a reason for her decision, I can think of at least one._

_Apart from that, there are medical reasons against removing and replacing her heart. These procedures are, even with today's advanced technology, very risky. But I highly doubt that was any motivation for her decision._

_Her reckless behavior is worrying me more often than not. It's what Talon made out of her and I can only hope that Lena is able to fill her life with new purpose and direction._

_Also, I have to admit that I am very worried by the extent of the nanochips implanted into her brain, their exact function is still beyond me. I'll have to be very careful when trying to remove them. It's probably best to do them last. At least that is the plan for now._

_...end of audio recording/_

-/-

* * *

**Unknown place, unknown time.**

"What is it?" Savant hissed, charging through the door into the dark room behind it, countless screens being the only source of light. "What is so important that I absolutely  _had_ to come here at this ungodly hour. This better be important, Sombra!"  _Or else I'll make you regret it._

The hacker just shrugged, sitting on a huge soft pillow in her chair, her posture a little funny.

"Production plant 4 self-activated because of unauthorized access. The Germans and Austrians figured it out, they are mobilizing." Sombra told him and looked over her shoulder. "Thought you might want to know they EMP'd the whole mountain."

Savant groaned, clenching his fists. That was not  _supposed_ to happen, but then again, it was planned for. They could afford this. "Effects?"

"Facility 4 is obviously lost, duh, they dropped an EMP on it. Buuuut, since it's a smaller unit anyway and with 5 and 6 still running at maximal capacity, we didn't lose a lot in terms of combat power, Sir."

"Still." Savant mused, scratching his chin before inspecting his hand as if he was expecting the scratching would have opened an old wound "We might have to move central Europe ahead of schedule." He said. "How far is the god program?"

"Eh, still not completely perfect. I wouldn't unleash it just yet, but then again, your call Boss. I might be able to bring some sub-routines online for Europe by tonight. It obviously won't be the same thing as Alchys, but better than those damn tin cans on their own."

"Do that, then. And keep me updated" he grit through his teeth before turning to leave. The head of Talon, however, stopped at the door and turned back again. "Oh, and Sombra?"

" _Si?_ "

"You were out of base yesterday." He said with no particular tone to it. "Where have you been?"

Sombra tried her best to stop herself from blushing, the blood in her body too tempted to rush to her face and a painful spark cursing through her body from in between her legs. "Why is it important?" she managed to ask, having to focus on keeping her voice flat and not faltering.  _Think of an excuse._

"Mere curiosity." Savant smirked.

"I've been in town for some shopping, if you really want to know." Sombra replied with a shrug, able to compose herself again. She didn't even technically lie.

"Jewelry?" he wanted to know, the devilish grin on his lips spreading further. Sombra's eyes went wide and her mind froze at the thought of the golden ring with the red stone hanging from it, which was the newest addition to her body.  _Jewelry indeed._  Savant chuckled as he stepped closer to the hacker, placing a hand on her shoulder "I want you to do me a favor."

Her mind went blank

"Whatever you desire, master."

"Show me!" he ordered, a shit eating grin on his face. For the fraction of a second the Mexican hacker seemed to hesitate, like she tried to fight what was happening in her brain. A lost battle, all sense of herself was lost as the programming crashed down on her. Sombra immediately got up, turned around and obediently pulled her skin-tight pants together with her knickers down to her knees, lifting her shirt up.

There it was, in between her legs, so clearly visible despite the dim light. The small golden ring with a red gemstone hanging on a tiny golden chain. The ring piercing the most sensitive spot on a woman's body. Just as Sombra was ordered to do.

Savant laughed as he reached between her legs, and gave the ring a rough flick with his fingers, causing Sombra to cringe.

"I'll check in on you later" he chuckled. "For some evaluation."

-/-

* * *

**Watchpoint: Gibraltar, 0800 hours**

The stone steps were narrow and slippery, the angle steep. For many decades, the dark stone was exposed to the will of the tides, the sea spray always making sure that no matter how warm the sun above Gibraltar shined down, the steps would never completely dry out. The salty air wasn't entirely unpleasant, despite the splashes of water which hit Amélie's face from time to time. The former master assassin was walking down these slippery steps, carved into the cliffs, heading to the beautiful beach down below. She had let her hair down, wearing only a light white blouse with the top buttons undone and a pair of beige shorts. So short in fact, that the blouse was almost completely hiding them.

The wind was brushing through her silken hair when she reached the end of the stairs and her bare feet touched the warm, but wet sand. Today the ocean was calm and quiet. The waves covered her feet with water in slow, rhythmic patterns, as the tides gently hit the shore. It was a strange feeling, the wet, warm sand between her toes and the cooler salty water engulfing her feet every now and then, but Amélie didn't really take any notice of it. She only saw a figure sitting on a large dark rock, surrounded by shallow water. The rushing of the ocean was a comfortable sound in the background, hardly something which would have been bothersome during a civil conversation.

Today was a quiet, peaceful day with the warm morning sun shining down from just above the sea, far away at the end of the horizon.

Approaching the figure sitting on the rock, Amélie took a deep breath. She knew that this was inevitable. She needed to confront her past, no matter how scared she was of it. Who knew, maybe she would find out something useful.

Two steps away from the rock Widow stopped. Maybe this was not such a good idea after all. Why the hell did she even tell that stupid cyborg so much about herself? Why did Lena have to go on that idiotic mission  _now_ of all times. This was such a bad idea, what was wrong with her, entertaining the idea of talking to Genji's master. An Omnic. A machine. What could he probably know about her past, what could he possibly-

"When Genji told me who it was seeking my support, I admit to being reluctant. An old enemy. Someone who caused me great suffering. Friends died from your hand." Zenyatta said without turning around to look at Widowmaker. "But then I realized that denying you the guidance you seek out of personal spite would make into something even worse. It is not the path I chose for myself, nor is it the way you deserve to be treated. Contempt against someone whose hand was being forced is like hating an actor for the play." Zen pointed at the spot on the rock right next to him "Come. Sit with me." He said while looking into the distance.

Amélie briefly considered simply turning around and leaving, but she was no coward. The only thing she regretted was that Lena couldn't be here. Not that the Brit could have helped her much, but it would have been reassuring.

Widow quickly climbed onto the rock and sat down next to Zenyatta. The monk was levitating a few centimeters above the rock, his legs crossed and his hands folded in his lap. A pose Genji mimicked when Widow found him on top of the radio tower.

Amélie had no idea what to say or do now, but luckily, she didn't have to do either of those things. Zenyatta looked at her, regarding her carefully.

"There is darkness within you." He stated matter-of-factly.

Amélie perked up an eyebrow and looked at the Omnic with a quizzical expression. "And what makes you say that?" she asked, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

Zenyatta also turned to look at Widowmaker, tilting his head slightly to the left. "You are being defensive." He stated without any anger or sign of annoyance.

Amélie inhaled sharply, biting back a snarky comment, but unable to suppress the warning glare she shot his direction.

"There is no need for pretending my child. I can see your pain so clearly, your fears and worries. The dark places you have been in. I see your immense strength, the sheer willpower you had and still have. You endured all those wounds inflicted on you for as long as you could. You know what you are capable of. But even your mind knew limits, isn't that right? Eventually you did break. There is no shame in that. I see the shards of what's left and how you hold everything together. The confusion in your head. The uncertainty, isn't that right? A part of you desires these missing fragments. But you are also conflicted. You are scared of your past, scared of what it might show you, scared-"

"I'm not scared!" Widowmaker hissed, his comments hitting way too close to home. The damn machine was too right. She was scared senseless when she thought about what little she remembered from her past. A part of her was arguing that she didn't even want to know. But it needed to be done, it was not only necessary, it was also important for her peace of mind. Was clarity such a bad thing to have? It felt like half of her was somehow missing. Which wouldn't have been such a big problem, if not for everyone seemingly knowing more and referencing evils she apparently committed years ago.

The glares.

The snide comments.

The derogatory glimpses.

The disgusted faces.

No matter how often Widowmaker shrugged and confirmed that she didn't give a shit, no matter how often she scared the offenders away with nothing else but a glance, she couldn't help but notice one thing: Clarity would be great. Knowing the truth, if only for herself.

She needed to know what happened, if only to finally understand why everyone was acting the way they all were.

"Your past makes you feel weak, for you have no control over it, no way of being on top of it and also no way to change it. Weakness or any signs of it always caused you pain, isn't that right? Strength was the only option you ever had, it guaranteed your survival. Or am I wrong?"

" _Merde_ " Amélie muttered. "Who told you all that?"

"You will soon find that there are manifold ways to obtain knowledge and insight. Some messengers are human, some are artificial. But the best messengers are the ones who don't talk, nor walk. We can all see, hear and feel, can we not?"

"So, you want to tell me that you could tell all that by just looking at me?" There was a  _lot_ of doubt in Amélie's icy voice.

"Most of it. You are scared of yourself and of what you were forced to become. I can hardly emphasize that enough, but there is no shame in that. It merely means you are aware of your own potential, however destructive that may be."

"Very helpful" Widow huffed, but Zenyatta ignored her.

"Do you want to find out what happened in your past?" Zen asked.

" _Oui._  Of course I want to."

"Then, if you'd allow me, it would be an honor to accompany you on that journey up ahead. You will, however, have to trust me that I will not cause you harm. I will be inside your mind, you have to allow my presence, else I cannot work."

"In case you didn't notice" Widow sighed "Trust is not my strong point."

Zenyatta looked at her, saying nothing.

"Fine ok." Widow finally said, giving up. She wanted to know what happened way more than she feared the risks of what might happen. "Let's try this. But I say this once. If I get the feeling you are poking in areas which are  _none_ of your business, I will turn you into scrap metal,  _compris?_ "

"There is no need for threats. I will merely help you see."

"Wha-"

" _Gaze into the iris_ " the lamps on Zenyatta's head lit up and Amélie found herself engulfed in bright golden light. She was startled at first, trying to jump away from the sudden flood of energy and brightness, but before she could do more than tear her eyes wide open, she was already caught inside the golden light.

Before Widow knew it, her body felt weightless, like it was floating. The bright light dimmed away and she found herself levitating in deep space. The stars around her were shining brightly, shimmering like diamonds on the filament, far, far away. Golden stardust was flowing in between the various entities like pulsating rivers, but the streams were interrupted. Many raptures in the universe caused breaks, where the light was refracting like the remnants of broken glass. There were colorful nebulas and galactic clusters illuminating the scenery, but also dark clouds of dust and smoke obscuring large portions of the universe, sucking up some of the stardust and turning it into the same dark grey smoke. The clouds seemed threatening, red lighting flashing through them repeatedly, the thunder however, was silent. Right in front of her there was a transparent wall of blue light, it reflected her own form, her pale purple skin and the golden eyes, her dark purple hair was floating around her body, it all showed in the glowing obstacle crafted from light front of her. It seemed like the twin sister she never had was floating on the other side of the wall, a huge burning lava planet behind her, surrounded by even more of those intimidating dark clouds. Red lightning was thundering through the almost black mist.

She turned around and right behind her there was an enormous planet as well, just like in the reflection she saw. But no burning world, a huge, brightly shining gas giant, glowing in warm light. It seemed to be the source of the beautiful golden stardust which was swirling around the galaxy. From all over its surface the dust gently ascended into the void. It was like the planet itself was like a huge bee-hive and the dust was the bees.

The whole scene was a strange mixture of peaceful beauty and worrisome danger, all mixed together in one confusing chaos.

" _experience tranquility_ " a synthetic voice said from the distance and Amélie couldn't help but close her eyes and take a deep breath. There was some sense of structure and order all of a sudden, and even though it did feel artificial, it wasn't bothersome. She noticed that she had completely calmed down, that she was acutely aware of herself and everything important to her, but it didn't feel threatening anymore, she didn't feel like she needed to be scared about certain things, her doubts and fears were there, but she didn't need all her strength to keep them at bay. It was like they were frozen solid, unmoving, while she got to look at them.

When she opened her eyes again, her reflection in the blue wall was gone, replaced by an image of Zenyatta.

"Where am I?" she asked curiously, the scenery around her entirely alien.

"This is your mind." Zenyatta replied. "Look around, you see that everything is connected to each other in a way. This is all of you. The essence of what makes you the person you are. Your experiences, some stronger than others, your memories, some more present than others, your fears, some worse, some easier. It is all here. The things you remember clearly, but more importantly, also the times you thought forgotten."

"It's... not very orderly in here." Widow remarked, looking at the total chaos around her.

"No." Zen replied, his head hanging and his artificial voice flooded with sadness. "It is not your fault. Your mind should not look like this. All the cracks and tears you see, those wounds were inflicted upon your mind."

"The brainwashing?"

"I fear so." Zen nodded "I would say that I am sorry for what happened to you, but I know you don't need my pity and neither do you want it. Be that as it may, allow me to say that I am deeply impressed by your determination, your willpower, and the strength it must have taken to overcome the shackles placed on you."

Widow snorted. "I hardly did that alone." She muttered under her breath and thought about Lena.

"That does not matter." Zen replied as calm as ever. He could already tell just how extremely different Widowmaker was from Genji. His pupil had lost his way, so filled with hatred and self-loathing, he had disconnected himself from the world and his spirit.

Widowmaker was nowhere near like that.

She too was distant from the world, but in a very different way. Something which she once had was taken from her. She knew that, she knew it was missing, but she didn't remember what it was exactly and neither had an idea of how to get it back or if she even should or could regain it. She was unsure of what to do, the key memories of coming to an educated decision were missing. There was rage and hatred inside her, but where Genji's wrath knew no direction, Widowmaker's did. She had already focused it all on a single target. A huge part of her problem evolved around the shambles left of her mind. Two worlds collided within it. The endless confidence and strength of Widowmaker, a feared assassin, skilled and witty, unstoppable in her ways and a lethal force of shocking precision were one half of herself. The other was the all too human side of Amélie, a woman deeply scarred by her past, scared of what might come, insecure of who she had become and partly terribly afraid of what her other half might do to ensure two vital things. Her own survival and the survival of the person closest to her. Tracer.

It all mixed together in one individual full of complex contradictions. Fragile, yet so strong. Determined, yet so insecure. Cold, yet so caring. Ruthless, but also... No. There was not a hint of compassion left in Widowmaker.

Zenyatta could see these things. They were right there, in front of his mental eye and he felt like all he needed to do was to point at it. But Widowmaker would have never seen it. She had no way of looking at herself the way he was. She would have to be shown the way.

"What now?" Amélie asked.

"I can show you the way to the memories you lost. I can lead the path to a place where all that confusion inside you might clear up and you might come to an understanding of what you are seeking answers for. I can guide you, but I cannot give either one of these things to you. Along the path you will find your answers, but you have to look for them yourself, you will have to pick them up and you have to accept them." He paused for a long moment. "Also, I cannot revert what was done to you. The person you used to be is gone forever. All I can do is help you come to terms with who you can be now."

Amélie narrowed her eyes. "Did I ever say I want to be the person I used to be? Hell, I don't even remember her anymore. All I want is to understand. I can't stand the blank spaces in my mind anymore. I just want..." Amélie paused, staring at Zenyatta with eyes wide open, as she realized what she wanted to say.

"Peace of mind?" The Omnic monk suggested.

"...  _oui._ " Widowmaker whispered.

"Very well." Zen nodded and reached out with his hand to touch the blue transparent wall. Amélie frowned slightly, but quickly noticed that he was waiting for her to do the same. Reluctantly she reached out and, after a moment of hesitation, quickly placed her hand on the surface like she was touching his hand. Suddenly the wall became liquid and Zenyatta reached through it, grabbed her hand and pulled her to the other side. For a moment Amélie felt like she was about to drown, before she noticed that she could breath freely. The water around her was bubbling and she heard faint noises, voices talking, but she didn't understand them. Soon she noticed that the voices were originating from the many bubbles around her, so Widow focused on one of the many bubbles. The muffled sounds and noises were clearing up and soon:

_She opened her eyes and was surprised to find herself in the past. In a long forgotten life, at a time when she was still a normal young woman. She was at her forgotten home. Amélie's home. The small apartment she had rented for herself while she was attending ballet-school. Widowmaker was forced to forget all of this existed when she was transformed, yet it all came right back to her now. She remembered. Back then she wanted to have her own space, stand on her own feet. Away from her rich parents, the servants, the glamour, Amélie hadn't wanted all that. She had yearned for a life of her own, something she would build herself and not what her ancestors had left for her to inherit. Her parents understood. They always understood._

_Amélie took a deep breath. It felt like no time has passed since she had last been in this place. She had no idea why, but it all felt familiar, like each piece was exactly where it was supposed to be. It was instantly home again._

_She looked around in her small place's vestibule, where a coat hook was next to a side table; the only noteworthy furniture. There was also an ancient Victorian style mirror hanging on the wall above the side table._

_Amélie carefully approached the reflecting surface and dared to look inside._

_She couldn't help but gasp, for it was not her body. She had beautiful black hair down to her shoulders, pale white skin and deep blue eyes. Was this the way she used to look? Apparently. Amélie noticed that she was wearing a brown trench-coat which hugged her curves tightly. She unbuttoned the coat and hung it over the coat hanger, revealing a snow white ballet dress she wore underneath._

_Amélie's breath faltered. She knew exactly what day she was thrown into. Today was the day she had completed her training at a prestigious ballet-school in Paris with the best possible grades and was allowed to play the lead role in 'Black Swan'. Now that she inspected the vestibule further, she should have noticed sooner. Her certificate was on the side table together with a greeting card from her parents, wishing her all the best. It was one of those cards which played silly music when you opened it. It brought a smile on her lips._

_Amélie could feel how proud and happy she was on that day. It seemed so long ago and so far away, but Amélie relived the same feeling of happiness, joy and excitement again._

_Noise was coming out of her kitchen and she turned her head to listen to the sounds, before she hurried to see what the cause was._

_The moment she opened the door, she felt like she never forgot how all her friends from school were there as well, happily chatting and congratulating Amélie for her success. With a bright smile on her lips Amélie slipped into her small, cozy kitchen and closed the door again, chatting with her friends about so many things. It felt like she was never gone in the first place and she remembered the names of all of them, despite not knowing who they were anymore._

_It felt like hours of chatting before the door opened again. The room fell silent and the bright light grew dark everywhere, except around the door. The temperature dropped and Amélie's eyes were drawn to the door. A man wearing black coat and grey hat was standing in the doorframe, smiling widely. He was holding a colorful bouquet of flowers in his hand. His green eyes were glowing as he held his arms out, expecting to be embraced._

_"Gerard!" Amélie cried overjoyed, leaping into his arms and hugging him tightly._

_"Congratulations!" He whispered into her ear "You did it."_

_"Yes! I did it! I'm so happy!"_

_"Indeed. Soon we can move on to a proper life."_ Without childish antics.  _"send your friends home. I want you for myself."_

_"But-"_

_"Come on."_

_"...Fine."_

The scenery whirled up in water, the bubble Amélie had been in kicked her out again, and she found herself floating through the cool water once more, the chaotic voices were back. The muffled bedlam of a hundred memories far in the background. Soon Widow found another bubble and was sucked into it.

_Suddenly Amélie was sitting on the veranda of Château Guillard. The ancient mansion her family inhabited for countless generations. It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining and the birds were singing, the wind was softly brushing through the leaves of a few nearby trees, just enough to provide a fresh, cool sensation on the skin. She was sitting under a white sunshade at a small wooden table with two chairs of equal color, her own and the one occupied by an elderly lady with short light grey hair. Her mother, Célestine Marquise de Guillard._

_The older woman was a proper lady of high society, well mannered and well spoken, respected by everyone for her fairness, but also known to usually get what she wanted. She was always polite and on top of the conversation, her aristocratic upbringing crystal clear, as were the decades she had been safeguarding her families interests among the aristocrats of France._

_The elder countess was looking at her daughter with sad eyes, worry written all over her face. Amélie had always had a good connection to her mother, who was not only the one to teach her most of what she knew, but also supported her in every decision in life. They were very close._

_Or at least they used to be._

_Until Gerard happened. Célestine might have seen things which her daughter didn't or didn't want to see. She saw the impending misery and tried to protect her beloved daughter from it, but it was to no avail. It wasn't because the man had been a commoner._

_"_ Petit chou _, you have to leave him, I'm telling you. He is not good for you, I can see it." her mother said gently, stirring her cup of tea with the precision only a proper lady could ever muster. "You rarely ever go the ballet anymore and when was the last time you visited your friends? He is isolating you, don't you see?"_

_"It's not that easy" Amélie argued. "I can't just leave him" she said and cringed, before quickly adding "I don't want to leave him either!" her voice was a little panicked. She wanted to. But she was scared. Panicked even._   _A cold ice was spreading in her chest and she tried to keep her calm. A losing battle it seemed, as the panic overwhelmed her._

Panic.  _The memory seemed to freeze. She didn't know exactly why she was suddenly so scared, but she knew that it was because of Gerard and what he would say, what he would do what he-_

_The thought stopped and suddenly there was familiar warmth engulfing her, like a warm light, thawing the scene again. It didn't belong into the memory, was technically foreign, but still very much welcome. After a few moments, the scene could unfold itself further._

_Célesitne sipped on her tea. "What's difficult about leaving? Think practical, simply pack your bags and go, you know you are always welcome here. I'll tell the maids to prepare the guesthouse, you'll even have your own home."_

_"I know that, but..." Amélie paused, a dull feeling in her stomach. "He is all I have, except for you and_ papa. _"_

_The warmth was back, spreading into her body, allowing her to carry on._

_"Yes, because he scared your friends away." Célestine said with quite some determination, looking sternly at her daughter. She could see how much Amélie was suffering, but that Gerard guy, he had her under control somehow. She always found a reason why the things that were clearly his fault, had nothing to do with him. The mother was worried for her daughter._

_"It wasn't like that..."_

_"It was and you know it, Amé. He is not good for you!" she insisted and Amélie looked to the side, ashamed. That was when behind her beautiful black hair Célestine noticed a dark bruise. Quickly she reached over the table and stroked her daughter's hair back. Amélie tried to push her mother's hand away, but quickly gave up. She had seen it._

_"Did he hit you again?!" Celestine gasped and Amélie averted her eyes, looking everywhere but at her mother._

_"No, he didn't. I hit my head on the cupboard."_

_"The cupboard." Célestine repeated in disbelieve. "The_ cupboard _. Do you seriously hold me for an idiot, Amélie? Do you? Did the cupboard jump forward and smack you? He hit you again, didn't he?"_

_"I... He did." Amélie admitted ashamed, the invisible source of warmth fighting against the ice threatening to spread around her heart. "But it's not his fault, he has so much stress at work and I provoked him, I shouldn't have done that. I started it, it was my fault."_

_"_ Sacre bleu, _child, do you even hear yourself talking? You started it? What has he done to you? He is using you, don't you see? Has he been going on about how he wants you to move into the mansion once we're gone again, too?"_

_"He is not, and he hasn't!" he had. Amélie stood up from the table. "I know you mean well, but you don't know Gerard the way I do. He is difficult, but I love him. I love him. I do." she repeated and sounded like she had to convince herself, before she turned and left her mother alone._

_She walked off the veranda and crashed face first into the house butler._

_"_ Desolé, mademoiselle de Guillard. _" He said apologetically, bowing slightly._

_"Don't worry, Albert. I didn't see you." Amélie replied, rubbing her head. "And I'm not_ mademoiselle de Guillard _, anymore, remember?"_

_"You will always be to me,_ mademoiselle. _" He said with a gentle simile, placing a hand on her shoulder._

The scene shifted, but Widowmaker wasn't sucked out of the bubble again, she merely travelled in time, but stayed at the almost same location.

_This day was the exact opposite of the first one, hardly a happy memory and far away from a good day. Amélie was standing in the ballroom of Château Guillard, the two open coffins of her parents in front of her. She felt such heavy sadness inside her, but couldn't cry. No matter how much she wanted to, she could not cry. She didn't dare to. He told her not to._

_"Madame Lacroix?" Albert asked, again placing a hand on her shoulder. His voice was different, shocked, damaged. Not the man he used to be. He didn't use her maiden name anymore. She was the Lady of the house now, inheriting the entire fortune her parents left her together with all the titles._ Amélie Marquise de Guillard - Lacroix _"It's time." He said, when the door creaked open and fast steps approached._

_"Leave us!" a harsh voice bellowed and Albert had no choice but bow his head to the new count and do as he was told. Gerard was wearing an evil smirk on his lips as he placed his hands on the hips of his wife. She was wearing a black dress, the one he chose for her._

_"Finally, we are where we wanted to be" he whispered into her ear, kissing her neck, right there in front of her two dead parents._

Ice gripping at her heart.

Warm light battling against it.

_"_ Oui. _" Was all that left Amélie's mouth. She wanted to kick him. Scream at him. Beat him. How_ dare  _he, on the day of her parents' funeral. She loved her parents, they were the only ones left who understood her, truly understood her, their only source of solace and strength. Now she really was all alone... with him. How could she ever go on? A flare of anger burned up inside of her, and she felt the urge to act on her impulse and actually beat him into a pulp. But she couldn't. He was everything she had left. He didn't mean it like this. He just wanted to care for her. He was just bad at expressing his feelings. That's all. He was nice, if she obeyed his rules. It was easy after all._

_"You won't try to run away anymore, will you? You are all mine now." He murmured, his hand sliding under her dress._

_"...Gerard" Amélie warned, but he ignored what was her last line of defense, the last threat of sanity she desperately tried to hold on to. Instead he pinched her. Hard._

_"Answer me, bitch. You know whose fault it is. You left me no other choice."_

_"I won't run away... you know I'm yours..." She replied in a whisper. Something inside her broke in that moment. It cracked years ago, but now it finally broke._

_He smirked._

_The warm light was everywhere._

The cooling water around Amélie dissolved while she was moving, an invisible string pulling her out, through the infinite galaxy, further beyond and into a bright light. So bright in fact that she had to close her eyes to somewhat dull the pain in the back of her head.

Suddenly the calm sound of the ocean waves washing ashore urged against her ear and Amélie slowly, as if she tried to make sure that it wasn't painful, opened her eyes again. The sun was long gone, replaced with the brightest full moon Widow has ever seen. The glowing ball seemingly dipping into the sea, bathing it in cool white and steel blue, while the sparkling reflections in the waves were glistering beautifully, the lights dancing up and down.

Widowmaker said nothing, the images she saw still lingering somewhere in the back of her head, like a faint reverie, fleeting, but there nonetheless.

It all added up.

It made sense.

For so long her whole past was nothing but a dull fog, the events were obscure at best and the people looking at her were mostly annoying, but now she understood. A clear red line, leading from one point of her past to where she was now, at least for the most part. The part she wanted to know. Torbjörns behavior made sense all of a sudden, the reason why he apologized to her was still stupid, but Amélie at least understood now. He saw the real Gerard.

She got why Reinhardt was so hostile toward her, which was equally stupid, but not ungrounded. He never saw the real Gerard, only his public face, the charming man he had been when Amélie fell in love with him. He couldn't believe Torbjörn. It didn't fit into the picture he had of Gerard, his whole concept of how people behave and work did not allow for such a double faced liar as Gerard.

And she understood the reason for Mercy's reservations. She knew what Gerard was. But she also knew that Amélie had said some things hinting at his murder.

She understood why everyone glared at her.

Still, they knew nothing.

Not the whole story, like Widowmaker did now. They knew nothing about Gerard Lacroix, the man they all idolized so much. They thought he was a hero, when the man was hardly anything more than a monster. Their prejudice was nothing but an insult based on blissful ignorance. How dare they judge her.

A smirk spread across Widow's purple lips as she felt a heavy weight lifted off her shoulders.

She could work with what she knew now. She could deal with the hate she faced in a different manner than evil glares and trying not to listen.

"I feel your relief" Zenyatta stated calmly and Amélie felt herself nodding. She felt lost and drifting before, only holding on to some sanity because of Lena and a vague idea of revenge against Talon.

That was no more. It was all so clear. She saw things for what they were, knew where she was and where she wanted to be. A sense of purpose and direction filled her, which she hadn't felt since the time Talon had forced it upon her. What she felt now was different, though.

Before everything felt cold, icy and spiky, everything distracting her from her assignment was forcibly dulled out.

Now she felt like she could breathe freely again, inhaling warm air each time. A sun was shining down on her. Not the real one, reflecting its light in the breathtaking full moon. No, Amélie's source of warmth was a metaphorical sun, their personality like a ray of sunshine, their laughter contagious, and their touch filling her with new life. Lena Oxton had always been able to breach through all that fog in Widow's mind and reach down deep inside of her, touching the most vulnerable parts of Widowmaker, the parts of what little was left of Amélie. It was what made Widowmaker change. What made her wake up from that seemingly unending nightmare. Tracer was always that brightly shining light Widow tried to reach and no amount of fog or confusion in her head could completely blind it.

Now the light shone directly at her.

"This won't fix you, Amélie" Zenyatta stated. "I cannot fix what they did to you."

"I know." Widow replied with a shrug, her pale blue skin reflecting the moonlight and her golden eyes shimmering. "You showed me the way. This is what I needed, I can work with... whatever you did to me." She sighed heavily. "However, you did it. I should scrap you, you were inside my head. The things you must have seen." Her voice was turning into a sneer, before she shook her head at her own suggestion. Stupid.

"We all are one within the iris." Zenyatta stated calmly, but only got a slightly annoyed snort from Amélie.

"Everything is connected somehow. You may think of it like lines linking everything together, showing how every object, be it animate or not, interacts with its surroundings, how each and every piece of the world around us influences one another. The iris shows it all, it makes us one."

Amélie shrugged. He was a monk after all, so she should have expected some religious bullshi- component. It wasn't like it mattered how he did it. What mattered was, that it worked. She had an important piece of her past back. Widowmaker was not fool enough to think that she was cured from all her flaws and all her problems. This was just one piece of a way larger puzzle and she was well aware that she still had a long way ahead of her, that there were still many pieces missing. What she took away from all this was the necessary focus and the relevant context she desired so badly to actually walk the way she had chosen for herself some time ago.

_When I woke up inside her bed. When she first kissed me. When she brought me back in Numbani. She made me hers so fast, I couldn't even begin to understand. My way takes me where her way leads. Whatever she decides, I will be there with her._

"May I say that I truly admire your strength and where you draw it from. Such unconditional trust, such absolute commitment. It is rather rare among you humans." Zenyatta said in his usual placid manner.

Amélie perked up an eyebrow. "And what would you know about that?" she asked.

"Oh, I think I know enough. Definitely enough to decide that she was what pulled you through those horrid memories of yours. That she is the fuel to your fire, the reason you are alive. The reason you are sane. The reason you could face what you faced today." He said it and sounded smug, but Widow didn't care.

She said nothing for a moment, blinking in surprise. "The warm feeling?" That was Tracer? The same feeling she got around her?

"Precisely. I let some of the emotions you feel around her pour into your conscious mind when you were having... difficulties to handle your own memories." Zenyatta hummed. "Be aware though. You give her a lot of power over you."

Widowmaker contemplated the Omnic's words for a long while. What he just said was true. She did give Tracer a lot of power over her, allowing her to take control when it seemed necessary. Lena could tell her to stop anything and Widow would simply freeze. Tracer displayed that kind of power over her many times before, when she managed to snap Widow out of her violent fits. It was better that way, Widow knew. It was necessary. "She deserves that power." Amélie finally said, looking away "Lena would never abuse it."

"I agree." Zen nodded and was about to add something, when an Orca shuttle boomed over their heads heading toward the Watchpoint, its silhouette dark against the bright moon.

In the distance a siren went off, screaming in almost painful pitches, followed by an equally loud, but totally calm speaker announcement.

"Attention all medical personnel, this is a category five emergency situation. Attention medical response teams. Emergency squads Alpha, Bravo, Charlie and Delta report to helipad four immediately. Doctor Ziegler, report to helipad four immediately. I repeat: Category five protocols are enabled. Emergency squads Alpha, Bravo, Charlie and Delta report to helipad four immediately. Doctor Ziegler, report to helipad four immediately." The voice was feminine, but artificial, most likely Athena.

Widowmaker had no idea why, but her heart dropped into her pants. Like lightning rushing through her mind, she connected the returning Orca and the immediately following announcement with Lena's mission.

Something happened.

As if pulled by invisible strings she stood and jumped off the rock she had been sitting on. " _Excusez moi s'il vous plait._ " She said to Zen and was gone, vanished into the night faster than a bat out of hell, rushing up the slippery steps on the cliff, only coming to a halt when she reached the top, overlooking the helipad below her.

Parked there was the same Orca shuttle from before, the engines running and steam blowing out of pressure-valves. The flood lights were activated, both of the Watchpoint as well as the lights on the shuttle. The side door was open and a team of medics already rushed toward the opening, carrying big red bags, while pushing a floating stretcher with them.

There was Morrison, barking orders, the voices echoing off the walls of the Watchpoint in a reverberating way.

And then there was Reinhardt. A hastily and rather poorly bandaged wound on his head was still bleeding profusely, but that was not what caught Amélie's eye.

The brave knight was carrying someone.

Widowmaker looked at the form in his arms and her heart stopped, an invisible string wrapped around her throat and choked her, the breath caught in her lungs. She wanted to scream, but couldn't make a sound. Her legs felt like they were giving in and she would sink to her knees, but she didn't move. Her skin felt like it was boiling, a thousand ants crawling underneath it, prickling painfully while she could only stare in disbelieve.

This was not happening. It could not be.

Amélie was vaguely aware of a faint humming sound behind her, but she could not avert her eyes. There was so much blood. Which wasn't even the worst part of it.

"In the darkest hours of the deepest nights, the love we feel for those closest to us is what may keep us alive. And them." Zenyatta stated calmly.

-/-

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> "Have you eaten already?"
> 
> -huh? What time is it?
> 
> "Almost midnight"
> 
> -no, I haven't, I need to finish this.
> 
> "I'll fix you something. Come on, patate, you can't sit here all night, oui?"
> 
> -Probably... I'll be with you in a second.
> 
> Ok guys and gals, that's it for today. I won't even bother apologizing for the long wait, because what can I say. You all know how life goes, I guess. I feel guilty enough as it is, please don't make me feel even more guilty. I am working as fast and as much as I can on this, but there are times when I need some time off too. Writing, whilst being fun, is also exhausting. And the fact that I truly do forget to eat at times while I write, or concentrate on something in general, have affected my health too.
> 
> I'm sorry for all of that. Truly, I want to give you more updates, but my health and the fact that I do have to pay bills and need to complete my educations doesn't help me.
> 
> I know the quality of this has been suffering, for that I apologize as well. I'm trying, ok? I am. This will be finished. I want it to be finished, I need it to be finished. You all deserve it and I want to do it.
> 
> This and the next chapter have been one at the beginning, but it was way too long, so I split in two parts. Good news is, you'll get the next chapter in a few days!
> 
> A very special thanks to my new Beta-reading minion Jfb715! Thanks for the help buddy.
> 
> I know a lot of you messaged me and applied for the job, so many in fact that I really couldn't reply to all of you. In the end I had to decide on someone and Jfb is someone I saw around for a while, I did talk to him before so I guess I connected with him the easiest. Thanks to all of you for your willingness to help me! You guys rock!
> 
> I'll stop talking now, see you in the next one!
> 
> o7
> 
> E82
> 
> -/-
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Excusez moi s'il vous plait = (French) excuse me please.


	35. some get to live

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to support the story, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction

_"We will be hated for this. Not only today or tomorrow, but for a long time. Until the truth is revealed and most likely even then. It can't be helped. What you suggest needs to be done. I hate the idea, but I also see the importance. The necessary precautions will be taken according to your specifications. You may proceed." – Lilith Royce, UN General Secretary. Unknown date._

* * *

-/-

Mercy was standing in front of her shower after an admittedly rather exhausting day. All she wanted to do was take that shower she has been looking forward to since she helped Fareeha with her therapy – or workout, how the Egyptian preferred – before she would crash into her bed and sleep.

Her day had been too long.

First, she had to treat a couple of burns of varying severity in the morning, even before she could have her vital coffee. Some scientists had almost blown themselves to pieces and of course Mercy was the one who had to patch them up again. Who else would do it? She was the only physician at the Watchpoint.

Then there was Widow, who just causally  _informed_ her that she would be off base for the rest of the day, before the ever elegant French assassin simply left. Angela's only option was to sigh and let her go, hoping that dear Amélie would not decide that someone had looked at her the wrong way and was in need of being choked to death. Coming to think of it, Mercy still didn't hear from Amélie.  _She is alright, no need to worry. She can look out for herself. Probably just needed some time on her own._ The doctor argued.

After lunch, she had her own appointment with Dr. Laguardia. The usual questions, the usual problems, the usual suggestions. Mercy didn't need him, she knew what was wrong with her, she knew how it happened, she knew what she was going through. She just wanted to go back to her normal life. She could deal with it on her own, it was what she always did, ever since her parents had been butchered in front of her eyes during the chaos of the first Omnic war.

Angela allowed her lids to flutter shut for a moment, inhaling sharply. It needed all her inner strength to not wipe over her face with the back of her hand, for she still felt the warmth of her parent's blood splashed on to her. It was only in her head. It wasn't there.

The doctor opened her eyes again and noticed that the water under the shower had been running for a while, the glass door of the small cabin open all that time. Shaking her head at her own tentativeness, she reached out under the stream of water. Submerging her hand in the stream of icy water, Angela winced and quickly pulled her hand away. She actually noticed how she took a quick step backward, her whole naked body covered in Goosebumps, as a shiver, cold as death, ran up and down her spine. Mercy hugged her lithe form, before she paused.

" _Das ist ja lächerlich!_ " she whispered to herself.

It was just water.

Mercy frowned and approached the shower again. She could do this, it wasn't that hard. She used to love cold showers.  _Think about that time. I liked the cold feeling on my skin. It relaxed me. It will relax me again. I just need-_

"Attention all medical personnel, this is a category five emergency situation. Attention medical response teams. Emergency squads Alpha, Bravo, Charlie and Delta report to helipad four immediately. Doctor Ziegler, report to helipad four immediately."

The speaker startled Mercy and she jumped away from the shower, rushing into her quarters to grab the next best items of clothing.

"Athena? What is the matter?" she asked, her accent very much apparent, while she struggled to get pants on and not fall over. She completely forgot any kind of underwear, Mercy's mind was solely focused on getting to the helipad as fast as she humanly could. Panties would cost her 20 seconds in which she could be faster at the helipad. 20 seconds in which a life could be saved or lost.

"The team sent on operation  _Pike's Peak_  is returning. They are reporting four injured agents, two of them critical." Athena replied calmly.

"Specify!" Angela instructed, hopping into her boots while she was stumbling toward the door, grabbing her white coat.

"Critically injured: Agents Dos Santos and Oxton. Agents Wilhelm and Hanzo Shimada suffered moderate injuries."

Angela's heart skipped a beat when she heard Lena's name, but she didn't allow herself to succumb to panic now. She knew that she was most likely the only person standing in between death and her friends.

"Why am I being informed about this only now?! How long have they been in the air already?" Mercy hissed. She could have been prepared for this, why did no one tell her?

"Austrian officials authorized and implemented the usage of an electromagnetic counter measure against large Omnic activities. Communications have been affected."

"Omnics? What does that have to do with anything?" Mercy sprinted through the corridor leading toward the helipad.

"I am afraid that reliable information concerning this matter is not available at this time."

"Whatever" was all Mercy said as she pushed the doors leading onto the helipad out of her way. The huge Orca shuttle had its engines still running and side door open, two of the emergency teams already busy at work, loading two people onto stretchers. Medics were running around shouting over the noise of the engines, holding on to papers, so the winds caused by the very same engines wouldn't blow them away.

"Doctor Ziegler!" One of them hurried toward her. "Preliminary report ma'am:" he started, his voice surprisingly calm, despite almost running alongside Dr. Ziegler. They were professionals, and their hurried movements didn't mean they were rushing things. They worked fast, but precise. Just the way they were trained. Most of them were taught to work while being bombarded by artillery and shot at by the enemy. They all could keep their calm just because an Orca shuttle was sitting next to them with its massive engines running in standby.

"Lúcio Dos Santos, fractured  _Arteria carotis communis_  caused by tangential gunshot wound, field medic applied a compress. Penetrating gunshot wound, between the fourth and fifth  _Costae verae,_  left side low, and first and second  _Costae verae,_ right side, also low. Bullets appear to have splintered, initial scans show damage to the  _arteria pulmonaris._ Wound foam was applied, stim-cocktail and painkillers, standard issue, 200mg bolus." The man shouted over all the noise from both the engines and the commotion around them, with a deadly seriousness expression. Despite the everything going on, he was speaking loud and clearly, while Mercy bent over Lúcio. The man was lying on his stretcher, barely breathing and hardly alive. There was blood everywhere, his clothes were soaked and even the stretcher he had been placed on was dripping with the dark red liquid. An IV was already hooked into his right arm and another medic held the clear liquid bag, while another one placed an oxygen mask on Lúcio's face. Despite the chaos and the turmoil around her, Mercy kept a calm mind.

She needed to get an overview over the situation before she would make her decisions.

"Oxton?" she asked, her voice sour.

"Right over here." The man who gave her the run down on Dos Santos said. "Doesn't look good, we couldn't get a clear reading on her..." he said, and this time there was actually some emotion in his otherwise calm voice, something akin to worry.

"What do you mean, you couldn't-" Mercy stopped her words when she saw Tracer, lying on the stretcher. She was bleeding profusely and had horrible bruises all over her face, but that was all nothing. The worst part was.

She  _flickered_.

A blue-ish light kept blurring her back and forth, making it seem like she was repeating movements, or doing multiple at once. The blood, pooling on her stretcher seemed to flow back into her body just as much as it seemed to pour out.

Angela's face lost all color.

"What about the other two wounded?"

"Minor, both are able to walk." The medic replied.

"Angela!" A voice called and through the mass of people Morrison appeared at her side.

"Not now Jack!" she hissed, turning back to the medic "Alright." she nodded. "Re-route Lúcio to Gibraltar central hospital immediately. Teams Alpha and Bravo will stay with him. Give him another shot of stims, 100mg bolus." Mercy ordered. She was the head of the medical department after all. Deciding things was a large part of her job. And she just decided that she had two patients in dire need of attention. Lúcio was on the verge of death and so was Lena. But she could only help one of them. And where Lúcio's injuries were  _very_ severe, they were also rather traditional. Any hospital with a trauma surgeon could perform the necessary procedures. Which begged the question why he was brought back here, but that was a thought for later. There were not enough surgeons at the Watchpoint in Gibraltar to treat both Lúcio and Tracer at the same time, yet they both needed to be treated immediately.

"As you were!" Morrison shouted, and the medic froze. Morrison grabbed Mercy by her shoulders, looking sternly at her. "Why do you think I decided to bring Lúcio here and not put him in a hospital in Austria, Angela? We can't bring him to a normal hospital. It may not look or feel the part, but Overwatch is still very much  _illegal._ We can't risk being exposed!"

Mercy's eyes flared up in a wave of anger. She was close to being furious. Did he seriously risk Lúcio's life out of fear of being  _exposed?_ That kind of sacrificial thinking was what made her hate the military.

"You should have thought about that  _before_ you expanded Overwatch _._ We don't have enough surgeons, Jack! It's only me! I can't perform surgery on both of them at the same time and they both need treatment  _now_! I'd rather he ends up in prison than in a graveyard!" she actually  _hissed,_ pushing Morrison's hands off her. "Now get out of the way!" she turned back to the medic again "You have your orders!"

"Yes, ma'am!" the man replied and got his team to move.

Lena wasn't as lucky as Lúcio was. Not that it was in any way correct to think of either of them as lucky given their situation. For Lena, there were only two people in the world who would be able to prevent her from dying... or even worse. She needed both of them.

"Team Delta, you are with me. Team Charlie, you see to the other wounded." Mercy ordered loudly and clearly. The people around her acknowledge the command and started to split, two of them grabbing the stretcher Tracer was placed on and pushing it away from the shuttle. Mercy spotted Hanzo and Reinhardt a little to the side. They were both roughed up, but seemingly ok. Lúcio was already back inside the Orca with a multitude of medics working on him.

"Get a move on" Mercy said, pointing at the entrance into the Watchpoint. They needed to get Lena on the operating table as soon as possible. While they pushed her away the Orca closed its doors with a loud hydraulic whirr before it lifted off with a roar of its mighty engines.

"Athena, prepare operation room two immediately and inform Winston at once. Tracer's chronal accelerator has been damaged, she is fading in and out of our time-space continuum again. He has to be ready to perform an emergency surgery in three minutes." Angela instructed as she was running next to the stretcher, now being pushed down the aisles of the Watchpoint and toward the operating room.

"Of course, Doctor Ziegler." A short pause indicated that Athena was simultaneously informing Winston about the situation. "He will be there momentarily" the AI replied.

"Good." Angela acknowledged, before turning to one of the medics "Vitals on Tracer?"

"Sorry ma'am, we can't get a reading. She seems to drift through time. Her vitals are all over the place." A woman replied, while she desperately tried to hook an IV into Lena's arm. It kept falling through her skin with every blurry flicker of her slender body.

" _Scheiße. Verdammte Scheiße._ " Mercy uttered.

-/-

Widowmaker was sitting on a chair in front of the operating room, her body numb all over. She thanked the heavens for Zenyatta, because if he wouldn't have helped her come to an understanding of her past, she would have lost her mind by now. It would have been too much. She would have murdered the next best person who would have passed her, giving her a strange look.

No matter how hard Amélie tried, she couldn't get the image of Lena out of her mind. Carried by Reinhardt, blood pouring out of her body. The chronal accelerator torn in half, the light flickering periodically and Lena's form with it. She vanished for a moment before she appeared again. Every few seconds.

She felt something grip at her heart and squeeze tightly, a feeling that didn't leave Amélie since the moment she had seen Lena in such a state.

That was how long ago?

Widow didn't know.

Time was all the same to her. She was only sitting in the corridor, waiting. Completely detached from reality, not acknowledging anybody, not even realizing anyone was here in the first place. She hadn't even noticed a nurse asking her if she wanted some coffee a few hours ago, the input didn't even make it to Amélie's brain. It was cancelled out way before.

Her skin felt numb on the outside and like it was on fire on the inside. She was cold and at the same time she was close to breaking a sweat. Her mind was like a broken record, repeating the same thought over and over again.  _Please be alright, chérie, please be alright. Don't leave me, please! Please be alright!_ It echoed in her head, while she stared at the door in front of her with lifeless eyes, like she could force her will through them and to where Lena was. There was nothing she could do otherwise. The fate of her beloved one was entirely in the hands of Mercy and Winston.

All that Widow was capable of now was the waiting game. She used to be good at this, patiently lying in wait, unmoving until she had the target in her sights. It had never bothered her for she had always been very patient. But not right now, not right here, in this situation. Widowmaker dreaded every painfully slow passing second while she was left with no other choice but to wait.

For news.

For that damn door do finally open.

For anything on Tracer.

Somewhere in the back of her head, through all the fog that was the all numbing worry and pain of what might have happened to her girlfriend, lover, center of her universe, Widow also plotted what she would do next. This was someone's fault and it surely wasn't Tracer's. There was some talking to do.

She waited.

How long, she did not know and it didn't matter either. She would wait for however long it would take, her eyes fixed on the door into the operating room. Anyone who would have dared to look into those yellow orbs would have noticed how dull they seemed, how they lost their sharp sting and how there was nothing but pain behind them.

But the only person who walked past was McCree and he only glanced briefly in her direction. Their eyes met for but an instant before the cowboy walked past her and vanished behind a corner. Widow glared in the direction he left. A real friend would have stayed. A real friend would have waited. Was his hatred for her enough that he apparently decided against staying? He had paused for a moment, as if he was pondering the idea of staying. It was obvious he  _wanted_ to check on Tracer. It was also obvious he didn't want to wait next to Amélie. The assassin shook her head, deciding that the Cowboy was a moron. She would have stayed even if he was already there before her.

Amélie waited. Her skin tingly all over and the tips of her fingers unusually numb.

It seemed like an eternity and each second she died a thousand deaths.

And then, just as she thought that she might be waiting for all eternity, her prayers were heard.

Finally, the door moved.

First Amélie thought she might be seeing things, but the door actually opened carefully, and out came a completely exhausted Mercy. Her movements were slow and tired. She was pale, and had huge dark rings under her eyes. She looked at least 20 years older in that moment. Spent and exhausted. Frail, like a gush of wind would cause her to fall into pieces. She tried to put her hands into her pockets while the door closed behind her, but her hands were shaking so badly, she didn't manage to hit the opening. After the third try she just gave up with an awkward sigh of total defeat.

Widowmaker shot up from her place and almost teleported toward Mercy, standing in front of her with a stern, emotionless expression.

_Oh please, please, please let Tracer be alright. Angela is just exhausted, she is just that. Please, she did not fail, Mercy cannot fail. She mustn't._

"Oh. Amélie." Angela whispered with a small voice as she looked up and noticed the former assassin standing in front of her, her lips pressed together tightly and her eyes narrowed expectantly.

"Is Lena..." Amélie asked and time seemed to freeze completely just like the temperature inside the hallway. She didn't dare to utter the next word.  _Alive?_

A second ticked past.

Another one.

Mercy's expression was blank.

"Have you been waiting the entire time?" she asked, blinking twice, her eyes tired and dull.

Widow frowned for a moment, how was this important? " _Oui_ , I have." She replied quickly, before grabbing Angela at her shoulders and shaking her a little. "How is Lena, is she alright? Tell me she didn't..." Again Amélie didn't dare to speak further, as if asking out loud would somehow change the answer.

"Hu? Lena?" Angela asked, the question only now proceeding into her brain, before she seemed to finally apprehend what she was being asked. Her eyes snapped open as realization struck. " _Entschuldigung!_ " she squealed silently, a short flash lighting up her eyes with new life. "She is alright!" Angela exclaimed, before the light dimmed out again. Her voice returned to betray her utter exhaustion. "Don't worry, she will be fine." Angela whispered, taking in a deep breath before continuing. "It was a close call, but she will survive." She said, and apparently was even more relieved than fatigued; however that was possible. She felt bad for not keeping up, but Mercy was so drained from her energy reserves, she couldn't think straight anymore. Hardly unexpected after performing surgery for 20 plus hours.

She was all the more surprised when she was yanked forward and into Widowmaker's strong embrace, the other woman pressing their bodies tightly together.

" _Oh, merci beaucoup!_   _Oh, merveilleuse femme! Tu es le meilleur!_ " Amélie whispered, looking deeply into the eyes of Mercy for but a moment. Angela couldn't reply anything before the assassin leaned in and kissed Mercy hard on the mouth, lifting her up into the air in the process and whirling her around once.

When Widow let go of Angela again, the poor doctor was beet red in her face from all the blood that shot into her cheeks. Her heart was hamming wildly against her chest and Angela was too tired to start rationalizing her body's response to the sudden unexpected intimacy.

Amélie didn't even seem to realize what she just did as she continued like nothing happened. "I want to see her!"

Mercy blinked, nervously rubbing the back of her neck while trying to re-discover her ability of coherent speech. She awkwardly cleared her throat, averting her blue eyes to escape Amélie's gaze. "Tomorrow. She is still knocked out. Winston is making some more calibrations to her accelerator."

"When?"

"Just come to my office tomorrow morning. You'll be the first to see her, promised." Angela said, the blush on her cheeks rapidly vanishing again. She was done for. Standing in the operating stand for as long as she did took its toll on her.

Amélie seemed to think about that for a moment, but smiled ever so faintly. " _Oui._  If you say that's best." She replied and Angela only nodded.

"If you don't mind" she was interrupted by a heavy yawn "I'd like to go to bed now. I can tell you everything tomorrow, once I slept." Mercy said, turning to leave and proceeding to more stagger than walk down the corridor. The doctor needed rest, so much was obvious.

"I will walk you to your room,  _amoureux_ " Amélie decided and put an arm around Mercy, who was actually having problems to walk on her own without stumbling. After the third time of her almost falling, Widow rolled her eyes and effortlessly scooped the doctor up in her arms, carrying her bridal style.

"I can walk." Mercy mumbled tiredly, but didn't resist being carried at all. Her legs were hurting and felt like they might just rot off her body, she was struggling to keep her eyelids open and felt like falling into a coma any moment now. She knew that she couldn't walk anymore.

"You can't. You can barely stand. Now shut up, I won't murder you in your sleep." Widow replied with a smirk while Angela's head slowly sunk on the assassin's cool shoulder, the doctor's consciousness slowly slipping. There was only the slow rhythmic sound of Amélie's heels on the cold concrete floor, only her scent of fresh ocean water in Angela's nose and an air of unwavering confidence and determination radiating off the former Talon agent. Widowmaker was still a very much dangerous, deadly and ruthless individual, yet she was not scary to Angela anymore. She had become a most trusted ally. A friend. Cold and brutal in a way, true.

But also beautiful. Caring toward those who Amélie seemed to consider her family. It was a strange moment of clarity for Mercy amid her grueling exhaustion. Of course Widow wouldn't kill her in her sleep, Angela knew.

She whispered something, not particularly aware that she voiced that thought and neither that Widowmaker noticed. But she did. And it made the emotionless assassin genuinely smile. Amélie looked down on the doctor, but she was already fast asleep in her arms.

First of all, Amélie would tuck Mercy in and see to it that she was comfortable. This wouldn't take long and then there would still be time to visit someone else.

For some...  _talking._

A spark of anger ignited Widowmaker's yellow eyes and her pacing sped up.

-/-

" _German high chancellor Constance Adenauer has announced a full cooperation with Austria in regard to dealing with what many already describe as a new Omnic Crisis. A meeting between Adenauer and her Austrian colleague Sebastian Kurz has been scheduled in Berlin for early Wednesday morning. Subject of their meeting is going to be the strategy of their joint efforts against the Omnic menace, following yesterday's tragic events. An illegal Omnium has been discovered and subsequently engaged in combat by a special task group. Official statements are yet to be made, but from well informed circles it is said that of the special operations battalion deployed, approximately 250 soldiers were killed in action and roughly a hundred more wounded. The same sources leaked that a squadron of former Overwatch agents might have been involved in the shut-down of the production plant. If any one of these heroes is among the casualties is not yet known. To shut down the facility a tactical EMP charge has been activated, supposedly deactivating the bulk of the Omnic forces. Authorities still haven't given the all-clear signal. Protests connected to the new Overwatch movement, demanding a re-activation of the world peace-keeping force have yet again been met with silence from the United Nations, just like there was no statement regarding the most recent events in Austria-_ "

Morrison grumbled as he switched the TV off with an angry wave of his hand, tossing the remote onto the couch in his office room. The mission had been an utter disaster, a catastrophe if there ever was one. Just when he thought things couldn't possibly get any more difficult.

Omnics. He had thought about a lot of possibilities, but to find an illegal Omnium in Austria was none of them. A few strays, ok. Talon base, sure. Terrorists, maybe. But not one of the largest Omniums he was aware of. Everything which could have gone wrong, went wrong.

Eight hours ago, he received a call from the hospital in Gibraltar.

Lúcio dos Santos didn't survive surgery. The uranium splinters in his body had poisoned his vital organs too quickly and the doctors were not able to remove them more quickly.

The medic and musician was dead. And it was too late for Angela to use her resurrection technology, too much time had already passed and the head of Overwatch's medical department had been still performing surgery herself at the time.

At least Tracer was over the worst. She'd live. Morrison felt a tug of guilt when he caught himself thinking about the consequences for the mission first, before he thought about Tracer's wellbeing. It wasn't that he didn't care. He was just concentrating on the next steps. He was focused. Too focused.

He needed a drink.

It wasn't supposed to happen as the telephone decided differently in just the same moment, informing the Commander about an incoming call. He grabbed the device and pressed it against his ear, leaning back in his chair.

"Yes?" he sighed with a huff.

"Have you seen the news?" a deep voice asked and Morrison gripped the phone tighter.

"Have I seen the news? Is that all you have to fucking say, Reyes? Huh? I was there, you moron. Was that what you meant when you said there was something big coming our way? You couldn't have been a tiny bit more specific, could you? You can't possibly think that I believe for even a second that you didn't know that someone built a huge illegal Omnium!" Morrison grumbled angrily.

"Of course I knew." Reaper replied. "Don't worry, it's under control."

Morrison clenched the phone in his hand so tightly, that he decided to put the thing back into the station and switch it to speaker to prevent squashing the device in his hands.

"Under control? Under fucking  _control?_ Are you crazy? One of my field medics is  _dead_ , Reyes and another agent barely survived. Not just anyone, too, we almost lost Tracer. Do you understand what I am saying? Do you understand what it would have meant for our cause if she would have been killed today?"

"You are too caught up in possibilities. She wasn't killed."

Morrison inhaled deeply. "If we had lost her, we would have lost Widow. If we had lost Widow, it would most likely have been game over for us. You know that. We need to be more careful!" He rubbed over his eyes with his thumbs "Besides, as I said, the mission wasn't without casualties."

"Such is war." Was the cold reply. "Soldiers die."

"It would have been avoidable. I am always upfront with you, am I not? It wouldn't have hurt you to give me a bit more intel, would it?" he asked bitterly.

"I know this is hard for you, brother. Keep a calm mind, we are almost there. The bigger picture-"

"Don't you dare to start talking about the bigger picture now. You and I, we are in this together. I give you information. You give me information. That's how it works. Yet right now it is very hard for me to not feel betrayed by you withholding crucial information. Brother, you know that-"

Morrison abruptly paused, interrupted by a noise behind him. He saw a shadow moving in the corner of his eyes.

It was too late.

He felt a cold shudder run down his spine before he heard her.

"A part of me almost wishes I didn't hear that." A voice, soft as silk but still dripping with venom stated with an alarming calmness. She moved as fast as light and just as soundless when a thin wire flashed in the light of the room as it was quickly brought over Morrison's head. The soldier had no chance to react fast enough.

Before he knew it, the thin metal was already digging into this throat, while his assailant was standing firmly behind him, clearly intending to choke him to death. She didn't make a sound the whole time, like a shadow of death she moved and Morrison understood why everyone feared her. Despite his genetically sharpened senses, and his superior strength and stamina, he didn't even see her coming. Before he knew it, she was already strangling him. He had no idea where she even had the wire from and right now it was not really his top concern. Had he seen her face, he would have seen the blank expression on Widowmaker's face, not betraying a single emotion, except for her eyes which were glowing with murderous intent.

"Widow! Stop!" Morrison choked, wrapping his fingers around the wire and trying to pull it away from his throat. "It's... not what... you think!" he tried to force out, his face red and his eyes already swollen. He tried to get out of Widowmaker's iron grip, but the assassin was too experienced to let this happen. She had taken countless lives like this and while it wasn't what she had planned to do when she silently entered the office through the balcony, it was what she would do now. Traitor. Morrison worked with Reaper. He sent Tracer into that hell where she had been injured. It was his fault. That was enough reason to kill him.

"Morrison!" Reaper's voice shouted over the phone speaker, but the Soldier could not reply anymore, fighting to not lose consciousness. Reaper was able to hear the struggle, he could hear the assassin talk, meaning that he was most likely on speaker. It was worth a shot. "Widow, stop this!" he said loudly.

" _Ferme-la_! You're next!" she hissed "Dragging Lena into this was a mistake. I should have known better than to trust you." She whispered.

"Morrison! Grab her shoulder! Do it!" Reaper urged his friend, hoping that he was still alive. He waited for a moment in which he hoped that Morrison could do what he asked of him.

And the Commander did try, he reached behind his back and tried to get a hold of Widowmaker's shoulder, but the experienced assassin just ducked away under his arm, spun around and whirled him around, tossing him onto the floor. Quicker than any human should have been able to move, she was on his back, her pointy knee digging into his flesh, as she chocked him again with the wire.

"Can't..." Morrison pressed out, his vision already getting blurry and the heat in his head rising, like it was about to explode.

This was it, Morrison thought. He was going to die at the hands of an extremely pissed off assassin for a crime he did not commit... At least not the way Widow thought.

Moments passed which felt like a whole eternity before Morrison thought he heard a silent whooshing sound.

That couldn't be.  _He wouldn't_...

But then Reaper spoke up again and this time not via the phone. "I need you to do me a favor." He said, unusually calm for the black clad killer.

There was a second of delay.

Suddenly the iron grip around his throat was gone as was the painful knee pressed into his back. Morrison desperately gasped for air, the cooling feeling of fresh oxygen entering his lungs a welcome sensation.

He rolled over to his back to see what the hell just happened.

Reaper was standing right behind Widowmaker, who wore a blank expression, her body unmoving and her eyes fixed into the distance.

"Whatever you desire, master." Was her hollow reply, while Morrison tried to get up, still gasping for air.

Breathing heavily, he couldn't help but stare at Widowmaker. The assassin just stood there. Unmoved. Unfazed. Like she was a living doll.

"What did you do?" Morrison asked with a heavy frown on his face, waving his hand up and down in front of Widow's face. She didn't react whatsoever. "What just happened?"

"I hoped that would still work." Was the almost sighing reply from Reaper. "If that crazy bitch of a doctor would have tampered with her too much, you'd be screwed."

"What did you do to her?" Morrison urged.

"It's a voice command. Talon uses it on most of its agents so they stay... loyal to the cause."

" _What?_ " Morrison spat, his eyes snapping to his comrade, who merely shrugged. He lived in a fucked up world and forgot how to care about all the craziness he witnessed.

"We need to be very careful now with what we tell her."

-/-

The bar at the Watchpoint was untypically busy, only a few of the Agents were missing, namely those who had been too severely injured during operation  _Pike's Peak_ and those who tried their best to save them _._ Namely Tracer, Lúcio, Mercy and Winston. Everyone else was in the bar. A random occurrence, everyone seemed to have difficulties sleeping and felt the need to socialize. People just showed up one after another, some even in their pajamas.

Reinhardt was tending to the bar, pouring various generously sized beverages for his comrades. His head wound was properly patched up now and he had been told to rest, but he really didn't see what harm pouring drinks could possibly do.

Hanzo, Genji, and Zenyatta were sitting around a table, talking about whatever it was they found interesting. Zarya was telling war-stories from Russia about her uncle Misha, who must have been even larger than she was and who apparently carried a Gatling-gun he liked to call Sasha. Zarya told the stories about her uncle with such detail and humor, everyone listening seemed captivated, laughing from time to time. It served as a good distraction, taking people's minds off the events of the last hours.

Torbjörn and Symmetra were sitting at the bar with Reinhardt, Torbjörn drinking a beer from a pitcher the size of his head while Satya was sipping a flashy cocktail from a small glass. She didn't fancy alcohol too much, but a small amount of quality liquor was acceptable.

"So," Reinhardt asked pouring himself a nice glass of wheat beer. He knew how to do that properly. Before he filled the glass completely, he stopped, whirling the bottle around a few times to stir up the yeast. Only then did he pour the rest into the glass, giving the golden liquid a dull color. "I have been meaning to ask. How is your work with that huge killer machine in the basement coming along? And I do mean the one made from metal. Not the purple one walking around base."

Torbjörn rolled his eyes with a sigh, not wanting to go to that particular discussion about Amélie again. Reinhardt didn't believe him. They had seen different things from different perspectives. One day he would see.

"The progress is satisfactory" Satya stated. "The unit's core-code has apparently re-written itself into a yet to be discovered specification. I am inclined to ask for Zenyatta's help in communicating with the Bastion unit, for the unit seems to get easily side-tracked by the most mundane of things, but my...  _colleague_  here is not in favor."

"I'll be damned if I cannot figure that out without the help of another tin-can." He muttered.

"Time appears to be of the essence. You should put your pride aside." Symmetra stated, sipping her drink.

Torbjörn huffed "There is something on your dress." He said.

"No. There isn't." She said with an air of arrogance surrounding her.

"Pfff... who is too proud now?" Torbjörn muttered.

Reinhardt laughed loudly. "Ha! I only asked a question, no need for you to start arguing! You two sound like you are married for decades."

Torbjörn snorted, and picked up his pitcher to take a huge gulp from it. Reinhardt knew he was happily married with more kids than he cared counting.

Symmetra however actually burned up. "Don't be ridiculous." She uttered, turning away.

That was when someone hit a spoon onto a glass. It took a moment or two for everyone to quiet down, for Zarya to stop her re-telling of the Omnic war in Russia, for Hanzo to stop talking about whatever it was he was talking about and for Reinhardt to turn his attention to whoever it was demanding it.

It was Dr. Giuseppe Laguardia. The psychologist. He cleared his throat carefully, not looking particularly happy to be here in the moment.

"Good evening." He said with a sour voice. "I am very sorry to disturb you all on such an eventful day when you are all obviously trying to find peace again and calm down, but unfortunately I am the bearer of bad news." He awkwardly cleared his throat. "I am sorry to inform you all that Lúcio dos Santos has unfortunately succumbed to his injuries tonight. Radiation poisoning made all attempts to help him futile."

Dead silence spread in the bar and Dr. Laguardia was forced to look into the faces of deeply shocked and hurt people. Battle hardened warriors they might have been, but they were also humans, who had lost a friend. Lúcio had been very popular. He made people laugh and feel welcome. He was very likeable. Honest and upfront. A good friend, Laguardia supposed.

"I know the bonds of comrades can be very strong. Should anyone of you feel the need to talk, you can naturally always seek me out." He said, waiting for a moment longer.

Someone pushed a chair back, the sound almost deafening compared to the silence in the bar. Light footsteps on the floor followed as rushed out of the bar.

-/-

Widowmaker sucked in a sharp breath. She wasn't sure what was more ridiculous, the whole story that Morrison and Reyes had been telling her or that she actually  _believed_ them.

Yet it made sense.

In a very twisted way.

Harsh measures for harsh times she supposed.

"I will do what you ask of me." She finally stated, her voice icy and devoid of any emotion, ignoring the heavy sigh of both Reaper and Morrison. She was not sure if she was going to regret this later. A decision needed to be made and she supposed it was better playing along to keep tabs on them than leaving them to their own affairs. It meant there would not be any nasty surprises later on, she supposed. Fixing Morrison with a warning glare, Widow continued. "Under one condition."

"We are listening" Morrison replied, leaning back on his chair, while Reaper had decided to occupy the couch for the time being. It was good that Athena's sensors had been shut off inside Morrison's office, or otherwise the AI would have surely noticed Reaper appearing out of thin air to save the commander.

"I want back into the field. And not just anywhere. Wherever you send Oxton, you send me too." Widowmaker's golden eyes pierced through Morrison who seemed to think about the request for a moment. In fact, he was pondering if it was wise to press for a reason why she wanted to accompany Tracer. It probably wasn't. Besides, they knew enough to make an educated guess. No need to invade into Widowmaker's privacy and make her even more furious than she already was.

Her anger was understandable.

Still, it would have been nice if it could have been avoided.

"That is agreeable." Morrison nodded.

"A good decision, little spider." Reaper chuckled.

Amélie hissed a very sharp "Go to hell!" as she walked past him on her way to the door. A moment before she reached it she turned back around and looked over her shoulder again.

"Oh, and one more thing. If you two  _ever_ dare to use the command again, or even  _think_ about it? You better make sure I never snap out of it again." she glared at Reaper with burning hatred, for he knew exactly what she was talking about "Because when I do, I will gut you both with a dull knife before I force feed you your own bowels."

-/-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Alrighty guys and gals, that's it for this chapter.
> 
> I wanted to thank you all for your support and kind words. You folk are too kind to me, it really means a lot to me.
> 
> Now if I only had any idea where Widow went... I hope she didn't kill someone again... oh boy. Better search for her.
> 
> I'll see you lot in the next chapter. Which I'll have to write first. So, I make no promises when it will arrive.
> 
> Special thanks to Jfb715 for the amazing help!
> 
> o7
> 
> E82
> 
> -/-
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Das ist doch lächerlich = (German) This is ridiculous.
> 
> Arteria carotis communis = (Latin, medical) carotid
> 
> Costae verae = (Latin, medical) ribs, literal: true ribs.
> 
> arteria pulmonaris = (Latin, medical) Pulmonary artery, artery which carries blood from the heart to the lungs.
> 
> Scheiße = (German) shit.
> 
> Verdammte Scheiße = (German) fucking shit.
> 
> Entschuldigung = (German) Sorry
> 
> Oh, merci beaucoup! Oh, merveilleuse femme! Tu es le meilleur = (French) Oh thank you so much! Oh, you wonderful woman! You're the best!
> 
> Amoureux = (French) sweetheart.
> 
> Ferme-la = (French) shut up


	36. awake after all

**Video log #14581, cameras 143, 144 and 146 – infirmary. Athena's deep file vault. Not accessible.**

_Widowmaker was staring out of the orange tinted window, through her own faint reflection, not looking at anything in particular. Not that there was a lot going on outside, apart from the obligatory seagull circling above the ocean. Amélie paid the bird no attention. She was standing completely still in between two sickbeds, her arms crossed behind her back._

_Sitting two beds to her left was Fareeha, who had her feet placed on the floor, standing up and sitting back down over and over again._

_"If you keep doing that, Angela will chew you out again." Widow stated plainly, not looking at Pharah. Wondering how Amélie even noticed her little secret exercise, Fareeha halted for a moment, before sitting back down again._

_"Is there anything you_ don't _see?" she asked, sighing. This wasn't the first time the former assassin noticed things she wasn't supposed to notice. Like last time, when Widow wanted to know if there was something special to see on Angela's butt. That purple demon had caught her staring._

_No matter how it seemed, the two women actually got along rather well. Which was mostly because they were stuck in the infirmary together a lot._

_Amélie merely chuckled as a reply, before both of them fell silent again. Fareeha continued to do her exercise, while Widowmaker kept on staring into the distance, her artificial eyes probably seeing farther than anyone else could without binoculars._

_Light footsteps approached from behind and Widowmaker saw the reflection of Mercy in the glass. Fareeha was lucky to be sitting in the moment when Angela came into the infirmary. The doctor glanced at Pharah, who tried to smile innocently, but failed miserably. She was found out._

_Mercy shook her head ever so slightly, shooting her patient a look which made it clear that they would be talking about Fareeha's liberal interpretation of 'rest' later. For now, however, Angela seemed to be here for her other patient, and so she turned her attention to Widow._

_Walking up behind her, she placed her hand gently on the other woman's back._

_"I've prepared everything Amélie. We can start with removing some of the implants." She said carefully. Widow hesitated a moment before she looked over her shoulder._

_"You remember what I asked of you,_ oui _?" Widow asked plainly and Angela nodded softly._

_"Don't worry, your marksmanship will be unaffected. Just your appetite for now."_

_Widow turned around and walked past Mercy "let's get this over with, then." she stated, stopping at the door and looking back at Angela._

_The doctor looked worried and for a moment seemed like she wanted to speak up. Apparently deciding against it, she eventually nodded._

-/-

* * *

 

**Watchpoint Gibraltar, 0938 hours, morning after the surgery, infirmary.**

Just as Mercy had promised her, Widow was allowed to see Tracer first thing in the morning. The much feared assassin showed up early, so early in fact that the doctor herself wasn't even there yet.

Hardly surprising, considering how long the poor doctor had been performing surgery the day prior and how utterly exhausted she was. Widowmaker would know better than anyone, seeing how she was the one who had tucked a completely passed out Angela into bed, making sure she was comfortable.

So, it was hardly surprising for Widow to find the infirmary void of Dr. Ziegler. She just shrugged to herself, when she noticed that the only person inside the infirmary, apart from the patients, of course, was one of Mercy's staff members. The nurse on duty had the common sense to not ask any questions or even try to stop Amélie from walking into the infirmary, grabbing a chair and sitting down next to Tracer's bed.

The woman wasn't suicidal after all.

A piercing stare from Widow was all it took for the nurse to find a suddenly renewed interest in whatever papers she had been working on. Amélie had that kind of effect on most people. They stared at the gorgeous woman with the strange purple skin, be that because wherever the assassin went she seemed to capture the room with her mere presence, or be that because of her  _specific_ reputation, or maybe a bit of both. But they hastily averted their eyes when Widow caught them staring. It was one of the things she didn't like at all. People staring like she was some kind of circus freak. The nasty glances Widow was able to throw at someone made people shiver and were probably capable of inflicting actual physical harm.

It felt relieving when the nurse left the infirmary and Amélie was happy she could sit next to Tracer's bed in peace. She wouldn't have enjoyed it, if she had to explain herself to a lowly employee, someone who had no idea about anything and someone who was not worthy of even a moment of conversation.

Widowmaker sat in silence, watching the soft rays of the morning sun gently falling through the windows of the infirmary and dancing softly on Lena's skin. Her lover was lying peacefully in the hospital bed, the snow-white blanket pulled up over her chest, her arms placed on top of the blanket to her sides. The unruly mess Tracer called her hairstyle was even more chaotic, but it had a certain charm. Amélie ran a hand through her lover's thick hair.

Lena's hospital gown was a world too large for the petite woman and so the soft fabric hung rather loosely around her neck, revealing her left collarbone. Some wires were running into the collar, vanishing underneath the piece of clothing. If not for the whole scenario, the hospital, the injuries and the fact that Widow didn't actually  _share_ Tracer's bed, one could have almost thought that nothing was amiss.

_Almost._

Widow had often watched Lena sleep. Deep in the night when the assassin couldn't find any rest. She would simply watch how Tracer slowly drew one gentle breath after the other, her unruly hair sticking in all directions, much like it was now, and the freckles darker than during the day. The only thing casting a faint light onto her lover was the bathroom light, shimmering through the halfway open door. Tracer always kept the light on in there during the night.

Lena's face was peaceful when she slept, completely relaxed, without a care in the world.

If Amélie didn't know it better, she'd say that now was no different.

But it was, even though the difference was merely a tiny detail, easy to overlook. Widowmaker never missed the details. How her eyes were closed a little harder than usual, with barely visible wrinkles around her eyelids. Behind the thin skin her eyes were moving frantically, too. Lena wasn't sleeping well.

For a second Widow pondered if she should wake her lover, but decided against it. She was sure that Lena needed the time to heal and not be faced with the problems reality presented. So, trying to comfort the only person the otherwise so cold woman cared about, Widow reached out and took Lena's soft hand carefully into hers.

"Everything is going to be fine,  _chérie._ " She whispered softly, while stroking the back of Tracer's hand ever so gently. Her features had lost all of their usual sharpness, the stern look Widow wore all the time. It was all gone. She didn't glare anymore, instead her eyes were large and shimmering, only focused on Tracer like the world around them didn't even exist. An expression reserved for Lena and Lena alone. Chances were no one else would ever get to see Amélie like this.

Someone clearing his throat rather loudly was what got Widowmaker's attention. Just like that, the peaceful, dreamy expression full of love and adoration gave way to the icy glare of a killer. Within the blink of an eye the former vanished, replaced by the latter. She looked up from Lena to see a huge monkey standing in the middle of the infirmary, carefully adjusting his glasses.

"Excuse me. I didn't know you were visiting, Lady Lacroix." He stated carefully. Winston was hit by a prime example of Widow's infamous death-glare. His presence was not appreciated.

"I fail to see how it is your business." she spat, her voice screaming  _fuck off,_ no matter the words she used. "But if you must know, I have Dr. Ziegler's permission."

"My apologies. I didn't mean to imply you weren't allowed to visit." Winston clarified politely. He had no intention of aggravating the anything but harmless former assassin. She had stayed put so far, which was more than he had expected of her. Provoking her was not a wise choice. He wouldn't go as far as saying that he was scared of her, his sheer size and strength, combined with the fact that he was a gorilla, put him at an advantage when it came to hand to hand combat. No, scared would have been the wrong word. A healthy dose of respect for her abilities, that was a more fitting phrase. He simply preferred being on her good side than on her bad, for it made life both easier and possibly a lot longer, too.

" _Bien._ " Widow replied curtly. "Was there something else you needed?"

"Yes, naturally." Winston chuckled awkwardly, again adjusting his glasses. He couldn't help but feel uncomfortable in Widowmaker's presence. A quality the assassin was more than aware of and which she used shamelessly to her advantage. Still, Winston was taught politeness and he would follow through with it. "But first, I believe we haven't met in person before. My name is-"

"-Winston. Specimen 28, genetically enhanced by Lucheng Interstellar. You were born on Horizon Lunar Colony. Fled the colony during the uprising of your fellow primates with a rocket you constructed on your own. Now you are the chef of the development department of Overwatch and Morrison's first lieutenant." The information just flooded into Widow's consciousness out of nowhere. She blinked.

Winston blinked, too. They stared at each other for a very awkward, very silent and very long second.

"I didn't think you'd know all that." He sated uncomfortably, a worried frown appearing on his features. "How did you get that information?"

"Did some research." Widow, lied smoothly, shrugging carelessly while pretending that there was nothing more to it. "If you were in my place, wouldn't you want to know with whom you'd be forced to spend your days?" she asked, waving her hand dismissively. The truth was, she remembered because of something else. Winston had been a target. During the raid on the museum, where she tried to secure Doomfist's gauntlet, he was a secondary objective. The task was to kill him if possible. Widowmaker didn't give voice to that particular information. "So, what is it you need?"

Winston cleared his throat. "Oh yes. Of course. I'm here to make sure Lena's accelerator is properly adjusted. Since you have been here longer than I have, maybe you can tell me if you have noticed Lena flickering since you arrived?"

Amélie tilted her head ever so slightly. " _Non._ " she replied carefully, watching the Gorilla step closer to the bed and gently pull back the blanked covering Tracer. A soft blue light was shimmering through the thin green-ish fabric of the hospital gown right on Lena's chest.

"And for how long have you been here?" he asked, quickly glancing at the assassin before turning his attention back to Tracer.

"Maybe two hours." Widow answered truthfully, her eyes fixed on Winston's actions. "How is that important?"

"As I said, I need to make sure her accelerator is configured correctly. The device keeping her anchored in the real time needs to synchronize with her own inner time. That takes a while." Winston replied and with that he moved to unbutton the hospital gown Lena was wearing.

Widow's eyes narrowed and she jerked forward, grabbing one of Winston's large fingers with the entirety of her hand and yanked it backwards with quite some force. The gorilla didn't even get the chance to open the first button.

"What do you think you are doing?!" Widowmaker hissed with venom.

"Making sure she is alright" Winston replied, surprisingly calm. "There is no need to be upset, I am a scientist. I need to make sure the solution I came up with yesterday works for now."

Amélie hesitated for a second, before she let go of Winston's finger. "Fine. But I am watching closely."

Winston nodded, choosing not to comment on Widowmaker's strange behavior, while he opened the first three buttons on Tracer's gown. In doing so he revealed a device underneath it, much like the one the former pilot used to wear on her harness all the time. The soft blue glow which had been shining through the fabric of the gown was emitted from a flat metallic plate in the middle of her chest. The crude device was harshly fixed to the skin by means of a few long clamps, digging deeply into her skin. It almost looked like a spider had dug its legs into Lena's skin and tried to pull everything together. Amélie swallowed. Having that  _thing_ on her chest was surely not a pleasant feeling.

What  _was_ that? Lena's new accelerator? Was this how she would look like from now on, even when naked? Fused with horribly cold metal?

"You are rather protective." Winston stated, as he connected a short cable to the device on Lena's chest. The other end of the cable was hooked up to a small tablet, the gadget vanishing in his impossibly large hands. How he was actually hitting the correct buttons on the touch-surface was absolutely beyond Amélie.

"Don't be ridiculous." Amélie rolled her eyes. "If I was unconscious, I wouldn't want anyone to unbutton my shirt and fumble around between my tits." she snorted unceremoniously. Which was technically true. Yet not the reason why she had grabbed the monkey's finger.

Winston actually chuckled a little. "Fair enough, I guess."

"What is that horrid metal thing on her chest?" Widow finally asked, the curiosity getting the better of her. "The same thing she wears on her harness?"

"Indeed. Her harness was destroyed, the time-coil inside it wasn't properly cooled anymore and it burned into her skin. I had to-" Winston was interrupted by Amélie raising her hand.

"Stop the tech talk, I don't know what you're talking about." She said shaking her head with closed eyes, inhaling deeply. "Is it permanent?" she asked and internally cringed at how small her voice was.

"No, no. It's just until the tissue underneath had time to heal. And until I was able to construct a new harness for her, considering the changes in her inner time. It is quite complicated." Winston replied, not looking at Widow at all. His whole attention was directed at the data readings on his tablet, muttering some incomprehensible words under his breath, apparently happy with the data. He moved to disconnect the cable from the metal plate again and closed the buttons he had previously opened. "But with that data I can build her a new one before tomorrow, I think. At least if-"

Someone stormed into the infirmary.

"Winston!" a loud voice called out, followed by heavy footsteps on the immaculate floor. Suddenly Jack Morrison appeared next to the gorilla. "Torbjörn has been searching for you. He needs you with that Bastion we...  _acquired_." He looked at Tracer for a second "That is, if you are done here."

"I am, Sir. I'll be on my way then." Winston replied, before facing Widowmaker. "Lady Lacroix." He added and quickly turned to leave. Morrison was left standing in front of Oxton's bed, taking a moment to look at the younger woman and the assassin sitting next to her. Widow shot him a warning glare, overflowing with protectiveness.

After yesterday Morrison knew without a doubt how far Talon's former master assassin was willing to go for Tracer. The answer was almost scary. If Lena had died on that stupid mission to Austria, all the efforts he and Reaper had worked so hard for, all the research, all the planning, all the sacrifices, it all would have been for naught.

Yet they hadn't lost Tracer. And they could go on with their task, plus another member. Realistically they had more luck than judgment, Jack had no illusions about that.

"We will fly tonight." He said, without looking at Amélie. "Meet me at 2am in front of my office."

Her plum lips pushed together into a tight line.

"Very well."

-/-

 

Morrison had been gone for a while. In fact, it had been hours in which Widowmaker still watched over Tracer. The assassin hadn't moved off the chair even once, her elbows were resting on the bed and she was still gently caressing Lena's hand.

Mercy came and checked on both of them, even brought a small tray of food for Widow, but soon decided to give them space. Amélie wasn't in a talkative mood, only giving sporadic one-word replies when she chose to reply at all. It was obvious that Widow was generally not really paying any attention to what Angela was saying. So, Mercy decided to retreat back to her desk and keep an eye on the two from a distance.

Nothing changed.

The tray of food, a sandwich, an apple and a cup of coffee was left forgotten on the nightstand, untouched.

Tracer was still unconscious and Widow still held her hand, clasped into both of hers as if she tried to reassure her that she still was where she belonged. Sometimes Amélie would whisper something, sometimes she would hum a gentle melody. It was terribly sweet, seeing how the otherwise so cold and ruthless assassin behaved around Lena when she thought that no one was around to see them. Sweet, but oh so sad.

It was so obvious how much Tracer's unconsciousness tortured Amélie. How she was able to be physically close, but at the same time so far away from her lover.

And then, it was almost like there was some kind of god hearing Widow's silent pleas, Tracer regained her lost consciousness.

Though not in a way that Mercy or Widow would have liked.

Tracer shot up in her bed with a desperate scream, gasping for air, while frantically grabbing at the bed, the blanket, herself, anything that came in reach. She didn't notice Amélie's hand on her arm at first and started to hectically look around, eyes wide in panic.

"W-what...?" she panted, cold sweat on her forehead, while Amélie quickly moved her lover toward her, pulling her out of the bed and into her lap, holding her tight.

"It's ok,  _chérie_ " Amélie said, holding her lover close "It was only a dream, everything is fine."

"What time is it?" Lena cried, cringing heavily, curling up in Amélie's lap like she was about to vanish into thin air again.

Which was her worst fear.

Widow kept her calm, held Lena's head cupped in her hands and looked intensely at her. "Around midday." She replied gently, noticing in the corner of her eyes how Mercy rushed toward them, but stopped.

Lena's heavy breathing slowed down a little as she seemed to realize that she was indeed back in reality. The adrenaline of the nightmare beginning to clear out, she could think more and more clearly again.

"And what day?" Lena asked again, her voice trembling, still out of breath. Usually people asked where they were when they woke up after being wounded in battle. Yet Tracer didn't seem to have no care in the world  _where_ she was. As long as the  _when_ was correct.

Widowmaker remembered what Lena told her all this time ago, in Numbani when they became an item. When the lively, ever cheerful woman told her about the single most intimidating issue she had, about her deepest fear.

_I could vanish again. And I don't know if they can bring me back a second time. I'd be lost in time again, drifting around, not really here, not really gone. A ghost of time. I never want to experience that ever again. It's a nightmare._

"It's Thursday. You were only out for two days,  _chérie._ Don't worry, you don't need to ask about what year it is. It's all good." Amélie said gently pulling Lena into a tight hug again. The other woman clung to the cool body of her lover for dear life, her hands balled to fists, too scared she would hurt her by digging the nails into Amélie's back.

"I'm..." Lena whimpered, adjusting her vice-like grip on Widow, as if she was about to dissolve in time again if she didn't hold on to her. "...scared."

"Don't be,  _mon amour_. It's all good, you're safe. Angela and that monkey took care of it. You won't fade away again. I won't let you." Amélie said with a voice so incredibly soft, it was difficult to imagine she was usually hissing at people more often than not.

They held this pose for some moments until Lena had calmed down bit by bit again.

Slowly, as if to test if she was really not going to vanish again, Lena let go of Widowmaker and allowed herself to be placed back in the bed again, her hand, however, was still held tightly by her French lover.

Mercy took that as the signal that it was now ok to step closer. "How are you feeling,  _Süße_?" she asked with a warm smile.

"Weird." Lena sighed, her brain not able to come up with a more elaborate answer to put her feelings into words. It was just that. Weird. The past two days were like she had been falling through time. How does one describe the feeling of time? When it rushed past you faster than it should, or when it reverted? The pull under the skin, like ants crawling beneath it, trying to force their way through it, the hot sensation behind the eyes? The freezing cold darkness or the burning hot blinding light? There were no words.

"Can you specify that? Are you experiencing any pain? A certain numbness? Is your memory coherent? Can you breathe freely?" Mercy asked in a staccato of inquiries, blinking after each one.

"Do you want to kill her by means of rapid fire questions?" Amélie deadpanned.

"I'm just tired." Lena forced a smile. "Exhausted. But otherwise I'm fine, don't worry about me."

"Oh." Was all Mercy said, her jaw clenching together.  _Don't worry._ Lena always said that.

It became too much for Angela. Who was it, spending the better part of twenty hours, performing surgery? Who was it, who had to patch them all up again? Who was it who had to sign the papers when she had been to slow to save someone again? Lúcio... he was dead because of her. Because she had to decide between him and Lena and chose her best friend over someone she barely knew. It was wrong. She could have saved him for sure, whereas Tracer had been a gamble. Professionally, she shouldn't have picked her best friend. But she did. Because she couldn't stand the thought of losing her. She couldn't stand the idea of what it would do to Amélie.

_Don't worry._

Mercy couldn't stand hearing that combination of these specific two words in that particular order anymore. Nothing good ever followed. Of course Angela worried, what was Lena thinking? The former pilot had no idea what she did to her best friend. And not only to her. What she did to her lover, who had been a total mess until the moment Angela had told her that Tracer was going to be fine. It wasn't fair. It was so egoistical of her. It hurt Mercy and she was pretty sure it also hurt Amélie, probably more than they all knew.

But Lena was oblivious to that.

"Mind filling me in on what exactly happened? Last thing I remember is throwing a pulse-bomb at a squad of Bastions."

"Didn't I tell you to be careful, Lena?" Angela suddenly cried out bitterly, completely ignoring the question. She wouldn't allow this to go unaddressed again. Not like last time. She wouldn't let Lena pretend that all was good. "You have no idea how close you came to dying..." she hiccupped "How close we were to losing you. Don't you dare go on like nothing happened  _again_. Not like last time. Don't you dare..." the medic swallowed heavily "Don't you dare pretend it's no big deal. In the end, I'm always the one who as to patch you up again. And... And... think about Amélie, too... she has been waiting for you all this time, and you almost didn't make it back. Do you have any idea what you did to her? And to me?" Mercy was visibly upset, events of the past obviously aggravating her point even further. Widowmaker could only guess that Angela was referring to the last time Tracer had been close to vanishing in time. She didn't know anything about that.

A heavy silence spread in the infirmary, almost thick enough to grab it out of thin air.

The seconds passed like minutes and the guilt hanging in the air was so thick it was already tangible, until finally:

"Sorry..." Lena whispered with a small voice, turning her head away in shame. "I'm sorry."

-/-

* * *

 

**United Nations Headquarters, New York City, 0754 hours.**

The usually calm surface was shaking violently with each impact. Hundreds of clear projectiles were crashing into the equally clear liquid, crumbling it completely and causing it to create bubbles.

It was raining heavily in New York and the puddle in front of the back entrance of the UN-Headquarters was heavily assaulted by the raindrops. Not only that, the thrust of a repulsor-drive caused the water to be pushed to the side, as a pitch black limousine came to a halt.

The back door of the car opened and a man in a charcoal suit and a black coat left the vehicle. He opened an umbrella for another figure leaving the car. The other person was clearly feminine, judging from her slender statue and the high heeled shoes she was wearing, but other than that her features were hidden underneath a heavy cloak, her face concealed by a large hood.

Protected from the rain by the umbrella, they hurried inside, the backdoor unguarded and already open.

-/-

UN General Secretary Lilith Royce was sitting behind her desk, chewing on her pencil. She knew that only little kids chewed on their pencils, but she couldn't help it. She never got rid of that stupid, and admittedly a little disgusting, tick of hers.

Truth was, it helped her concentrate.

She didn't like today. The weather alone was horrible, she got up too late and didn't have a cup of coffee yet, so her mood was extra bad.. A combination of all the things that ruined her morning had to come together like someone wanted to send her a message. This day would suck. She could feel it.

Scribbling something down on a notepad so she wouldn't forget about it, Royce decided she would tell her assistant to get her a fresh cup of coffee. Reaching for the button on the communication device placed on her desk, her finger froze a moment before touching the destined button.

A chilling wind brushed down her spine and caused the hairs in her neck to stand up.

Something clicked metallically.

Royce turned around in her chair, rooted to the seat, eyes wide when she found herself face first at the end of the business end of a shotgun.

"Bang." A deep voice said. "You're dead."´

A deep sigh escaped the General Secretary. "Good god, Gabe. Do you want to give me a heart attack?"

"This is too easy, Lilith." Reaper grumbled with a deep chuckle and the shotgun vanished in dark smoke. "You should upgrade your security."

"Oh you know, the Secret Service doesn't really deal with teleporting ghosts." She replied dryly.

He just chuckled again as Royce stood to give the black clad murder a friendly hug, which he did return, albeit a bit awkwardly.

"Am I too early?" he asked, walking  _through_ the heavy oak desk and flopping down on one of the two black leather chairs placed on the other side of it.

"Early for what? What do I owe your visit?"

"You don't know?"

"No? Don't tell me you two found him?" her eyes lit up, but lost their spark when Reaper shook his head.

"Not yet. We are close. In fact, we have... recruited... someone for the mission." He said, not entirely comfortable with his choice of words.  _Recruiting_ wasn't really a part of it. More being threatened by a gruesome untimely death if certain demands weren't met. He didn't mention that. It still gave him goosebumps when he thought about the effects of the neural command he had given Widowmaker and how she dealt with it.

"Oh?" Surprise was written all over Royce's face. "I thought we had an agreement. Only you and Morrison would work on this. What changed?"

"Yeah, well. We were left with no other choice."

"Who is it, Gabe?"

Reaper cleared his throat, but luckily, he was spared from answering, as the door opened and two more people went inside. One was Jack Morrison in a suit, which he wore with such an apparent disgust, it would have almost been hilarious, if not for the no nonsense expression on his face.

The other one was hidden under a cloak. Lilith knew better than to ask what happened to her guards and what Morrison did to her secretary to simply walk inside her office without being stopped. She knew that he wouldn't harm her staff. At least not more than strictly necessary. And to be perfectly honest, she didn't want to know the details anyway.

"Royce." Jack nodded courtly.

"Morrison." Lilith replied with the same kind of professional acknowledgement.

"I already filled her in somewhat" Reaper said. "So..." he coughed, "The person who will be working with us now" he gestured toward the hooded figure, who took this as a cue to pull her cloak off.

Golden eyes were glowing as she looked up while getting rid of the heavy black gown. Underneath she was wearing a dark grey business blazer with long pants and high heels. The blazer was buttoned closed and if she was wearing a blouse underneath, it was definitely not buttoned up as far as the blazer was. But all of that was lost on Royce, who couldn't help but stare at the color of her skin. She was  _purple._

"Amélie Lacroix." Gabe said pointing at the assassin with the distinctive complexion. "UN General Secretary Lilith Royce."

The head of the UN stared blankly at the most feared, most lethal hitman the world had ever brought forward.

"Widowmaker." She whispered under her breath, causing Amélie to frown. A second passed and Royce seemed to snap out of her stupor. "Did you two lose your mind?" she asked loudly, yet not screaming. "Of all the people you could have brought here, it had to be her? I don't need to tell you what she did! What on earth made you agree to this? She is a prime target!"

The accusation hung in the air for a moment while Reyes and the Commander exchanged a brief look, one that showed just how long the two really knew each other. And while Reyes' face was masked, it was still obvious how deep the trust between them ran.

"Do we need to remind you what either one of us did? Me in particular?" Reaper asked and effectively shut the General Secretary up. "What she did is not important. We need her one way or another. While it wasn't planned to involve her in any of this, we had her set up to go for the kill when the time eventually comes. And it will come, I can assure you that." He insisted and the Commander nodded, before continuing.

"We are close, Royce. Very close and we cannot afford to mess around  _now_ of all times." Morrison said. "We know a few crucial things. We know that the mole who sold out Overwatch is the same person who is leading Talon. We, however, don't know who it is. But what we do know is someone who does know." Morrison said and rolled his eyes ever so slightly at the weirdness of his own sentence. "All we need to do now is wait until we can get our hands on the person who knows and all our problems are solved. That's why Widowmaker is here. Why we need her. You personally gave us the orders. Find and eliminate the head of Talon. We find the target. She handles the elimination."

"And why would she do that?" Royce shot back, completely ignoring Amélie's presence in the room. Widow had crossed her arms under her chest, glancing back and forth between the three, before she finally spoke up.

" _She_ has a name. You know what it is, so I suggest you  _use_ it." Widow snapped, angry that she was addressed in third person despite standing right there. There had been a time where she would have silently taken this and said nothing, but that was the past. "I'm here because I  _want_ to, not because I  _have_ to. I'm not your tool to use when I'm convenient and then throw away after my usefulness expired." Her intimidating golden eyes zeroed in on Royce, the words sharply rolling off Widow's tongue, each one hitting their target. Her face was without any expression or emotion as she stalked towards the General Secretary's desk, leaning on it with her palms. "If you ask  _me_ for  _my_ reasons and manage a little respect, I might just answer you."

Royce swallowed audibly, blinking twice. She had been rude, hadn't she? The first time she ever saw the other woman and all she had to offer was insults? A part of her was ashamed for herself, this was not the way she had been brought up. Then again, Widowmaker had a certain reputation. Still...

"I apologize." She said with a curt nod and tried to gather everything of her political talent she had used to get as far as she eventually did. "I didn't mean to objectify you. If you could forgive my impoliteness, I would like to hear your motivation for considering a participation in this... endeavor."

A one sided smirk spread across Widow's lips.

"Look at me." She almost spat, forcing the General Secretary to look at the assassin even more intensely than she already did. Widowmaker had a way of being imposing, that was for sure. "What do you see?"

"Ah... uhm... a woman?" Royce tried, her eyes flicking to both Morrison and Reaper in a silent plea for support. She didn't get it.

A haughty, yet very sarcastic chuckle left Widow's throat. "Do I look like a normal woman to you?" she sneered, reaching out to grab one of the General Secretary's hands into hers "Do I feel like a normal woman? Or like a human?"

One could see the goosebumps on Lilith's skin when Widowmaker touched her, her hands cold as ice. "N-no." she replied carefully, most obviously not at all comfortable with the situation.

"No, indeed. That's because I'm not. I am science project. It's all I've ever been to  _them._ Nothing but a useful toy, a walking weapon, a tool. Like your pen. An object they did whatever they so wanted to and with." Anger flared up behind Amélie's eyes as her voice became bitter and infuriated, her throat feeling sore and tight. "No more of that. I'm a  _person,_  not just someone's property, _oui_? It took some time to figure that out, with all they took from me. All they made me forget. All they prevented me from feeling." Amélie took a deep breath before she spat: "I  _hate_ them. I  _hate_ what they did to me, what they took from me and what they made me into." She hissed, leaning over the desk and piercing Royce with a painful glare. "You want to bring Talon down? Fine. I will murder them all with immense pleasure if you want me to." Widow took a deep breath, calming herself down. She thought she could stay calmer, but she was wrong. Without Tracer around to support her, things simply weren't so simple. The help of Zenyatta was probably proving its worth right about now. Chances were, she'd have lost her cool just now and done something really, really stupid.

"That is your reason?" Royce asked with a small voice, the woman herself almost hiding behind her desk.

"Why, is it not good enough for you?" Widow asked, pushing herself back from the desk.

"No, no... I just didn't expect your reason to be so..."

"Personal?" Widow completed for Royce and allowed herself a hollow laugh when the other woman nodded.  _Oh, you have no idea how personal this is for me. It's all their fault. I will never have a normal life. No matter how much I try. No matter how much Mercy tries. No matter how much Lena insists it's not important to her. She deserves better..._

"If the story those two imbeciles told me is true, I may allow you to use my talents for  _whatever_  you need." She paused. "So tell me, what orders did you give them exactly?"

"The whole story then." Royce stated more than she asked. "Very well. You might want take a seat."

Widow looked at the two available chairs, both occupied by Morrison and Reyes respectively.

"I'll stand." She rolled her eyes.

-/-

* * *

 

_Flashback:_

_"Peculiar choice of meeting place, boss" Gabriel Reyes said with a careless shrug, as he sat down on the public bench right in the middle of a children's playground in Central Park. It was broad daylight, children were running around, obviously enjoying themselves with laughter and happy screams filling the atmosphere. Reyes felt like he was standing out like a sore thumb in his black coat and heavy leather boots. Then again, Jack Morrison wasn't really_ that  _much better. He was wearing a navy blue suit which was actually looking like he had simply removed all the brass from his uniform jacket. That would have been just like him._

_"Don't ask me, I didn't decide that." Morrison looked up at his friend with almost the same careless shrug. They were here for a reason after all._

_"Who was it then?"_

_"That would have been me." A feminine voice announced, walking around the bench and sitting down in the middle of Morrison and Reyes._

_"Ms. Royce." Reyes and Morrison both said in unison._

_"We need to talk. The three of us." The General Secretary said sternly._

_Reaper looked around in the playground and couldn't help but frown. "Why here?" he wanted to know and saw Morrison nodding._

_"Playgrounds are perfect places for secret discussions. The only people overhearing it can't make heads and tails from it and those who dare to take pictures of us with a zoom lens from the distance will soon have a mob of angry parents on their tail, thinking they found a perv." Royce explained with a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips._

_Actually, that was pretty smart thinking. Morrison was impressed and also Reyes had heard stupider explanations before._

_"So, what do we need to talk about in all secrecy here? In broad daylight. On a playground." Reaper couldn't hold back a deep chuckle._

_"I'll come straight to the point. Overwatch in general and Blackwatch in particular. Ever since the existence of Blackwatch became public after the stunt you pulled in Cairo, the public opinion about Overwatch has been deteriorating."_

_"We are no charity." Morrison stated. "If the public supports us, great. If not, too bad, we'll still do our job."_

_Royce nodded slowly. "I would agree." She inhaled before deciding to just drop the bomb. "If there wasn't an ongoing investigation against Overwatch and Blackwatch. Issued by the minister of Justice, Jonathan Petras."_

_Silence._

_One second. Two. Then the words apparently sunk in._

_"How_ dare  _that son of a bitch?" Morrison frowned angrily. He and Petras have never been on good terms and there might have been some heated arguments between the Commander and who was technically his superior. "On what grounds?"_

_"High treason. The reports are getting worse and worse. You are bleeding information, there is corruption, someone in the organization is definitely a turncoat and the list of unsanctioned Blackwatch operations never ends." She dropped a datapad from out of her purse into Morrison's lap, who picked it up and skimmed through it. "You can read all your misdeeds in this."_

_"_ WHAT?! _" Morrison spat, his face ashen. "How could that happen?"_

_Royce was not finished though. "There are ties to Talon all over the place. It's like we are actively helping them, playing directly into their cards. This is a disaster, Morrison." She said and the Commander let the datapad sink. Reyes took the opportunity to snatch it out of his hands._

_"Some of those unsanctioned Blackwatch operations were mine. I tried to fix the problem, but found nothing. I_ know _someone has been getting close with Talon, but I don't know who it is. There are no leads. I can't pin it. Whoever is responsible for this, knows us inside out."_

_"Hang on a second... you_ knew? _" Morrison was baffled._

_"Come on, it was obvious. The last four missions we executed were all traps. Talon knew we were coming. So, I had suspicions. Which now are confirmed. But that's the past, we can't change that anymore. Let's focus on what can be done." Reyes cleared his throat. "Which leads us to the next question. We are here. What do you want us to do?"_

_"I trust you two implicitly" Royce stated. "Which is why I called you here." She stretched the fabric of her grey skirt, making sure there were no wrinkles in it. "Here is what's going to happen: It will only be a matter of time until these reports find their way into the committee and into the press. Both will demand your heads. Actually, I will personally demand them." Royce stated matter of factly. She had been playing the game of politics long enough to know what was bound to happen. Seeing the expression of utter betrayal on Morrison's face, she couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt tug painfully on her chest. Despite not really liking him on a personal level, she had the utmost respect for the Commander's professional skills. He was a born leader, inspiring his troops. Yet, for all his charisma, some things were even beyond his reach. He was a good man, an honest man._

_"However," Royce continued. "This will only be what's happening_ officially _. Unofficially I'm aware that shutting down Overwatch will do nothing. It won't solve the chaos around the Omnics, it won't stop Talon from doing their deeds, it won't stop them from getting their intel in a different way." Royce hated this situation. She would have much preferred that it never happened. But it did. "The Omnics are a political problem, you won't need to worry about that. What you will have to worry about is Talon. Getting rid of them is of utmost importance. For that reason, I want you two to come up with a plan. These are my last orders for you. Do whatever it takes to get rid of the traitors in Overwatch and eliminate Talon by any means necessary. No one else can know about this. And, as I said, don't count on Overwatch being active for too much longer. Grab what you can while you still have the chance and prepare yourselves. You will have no backup, no funding, no authorization. You will operate outside the law. You will be on your own. Which means no one will come to help you should you get into trouble. I want you to do what you have to. This mission is active as long as I am active UN General Secretary. As soon as I'm out of office, you're done."_

_"_ Any  _means necessary?" Reaper asked with a perked up brow, his interest undeniably sparked._

_"Yes. Any means. Kill, bribe, blackmail, threaten, lie, torture. Do whatever needs to be done." Royce said and exhaled ever so silently. She knew this needed to be done. Doesn't mean she had to like it. "Are you up for that?"_

_"Yes, Ma'am" Reaper replied. Morrison merely clenched his fists tightly, staring pointedly into nothingness. He didn't say a word._

_"Jack?" Reyes gave his friend a shove, easily able to tell that his friend was thinking. He didn't like that expression on his face one bit._

_"Commander Morrison, do you have anything to add?" Royce wanted to know, stiffing in her seat._

_"This is illegal." He stated, looking at the other two people present. "Not only is it illegal, it is also wrong. You don't seriously expect me to betray the people I trust with my life and take the law into my own hands? Purging the streets with the gun like a wild west cowboy? I have an obligation to everyone at Overwatch and honesty is definitely a part of that obligation." Morrison spat those words like they tasted especially bitter. To him, they most likely did. He was always a man who did things by the book, according to law and regulations. The Commander was a firm believer in the chain of command and in order and structure. Royce's proposal pushed all the wrong buttons and rubbed him the wrong way._

_"Brother, some of them already betrayed you. Not the other way around" Reaper said. A part of him understood his long time friend, the other part just wanted to get the job done. That had always been the difference between him and Morrison. Reyes never had a lot of moral qualms, whereas Morrison did. A fact that would change drastically over the course of the next years._

_"But not all of them." Morrison insisted. "This is not the right way. We should do something against that Petras. Convince him that we are doing solid work and take Talon on. Officially."_

_Royce shook her head. "I'm afraid it's too late for that."_

_"I will not be part of an illegal, unsanctioned operation. Isn't that what got Overwatch into this mess in the first place?"_

_"Actually, that would be all the traitors we seem to have." Reaper shrugged. He wasn't really surprised. The fact that someone was selling them out was not new to him. For a while he had suspected Gerard, but the man was dead now. Killed by his wife. And they were still bleeding intel. Then he looked into Ana Amari, but again. She got shot by Widowmaker. The leak still didn't stop. Besides, he doubted Talon would kill their source of information. That is, if they knew their source._

_"Still, I will be no part of it."_

_"Then there is nothing more we can do." Royce sighed, folding her hands over each other in her lap. "Overwatch will be shut down and Talon will have free reign to do as they please."_

_Morrison groaned._

_"But I accept your decision, Commander. I might not agree, but we all have to be able to look at ourselves in the mirror each morning." She said and patted his shoulder, before standing up and turning to leave._

_"Wait." Morrison said, causing Royce to stop and turn. She looked at him expectantly. "I'll think about it. Maybe it really is the only way."_

_"I'm sure you will come to the right decision." She said with a small smile. "Have a pleasant day."_

_-/-_

* * *

 

"Wait, wait, wait." Amélie put up her hands. "Are you telling me that the huge power play between Morrison and Reyes was just-"

"- for show, yes." Reaper grumbled.

"Didn't you blow up half of Zürich?" Widow couldn't help but chuckle slightly bemused.

"I admit we might have gone slightly overboard with that. But we decided it was best to take Overwatch down ourselves before the UN could go through with that stupid Petras act. Ever after that shit in Cairo the world believed Morrison and I were on each other's throats anyway. So why not use that, right? It gave us the perfect opportunity to create a new villain. One who would be attractive to Talon."

"Originally that was supposed to be me." Morrison shrugged, not mentioning anything about the why. Widowmaker didn't have to know that Gabriel Reyes had been the husband of a loving wife and the father of a beautiful girl.

"Yeah..." Reaper grumbled even deeper, obviously less than pleased "But that stupid  _cunt_ had to ruin everything."

"Reyes!" The General Secretary admonished. "You were  _dead._ "

"So? Who was she to turn me into...  _that?_ " he laughed "Seems like today is a freak show-parade, huh, Widow?"

Amélie just made a  _tsk_ sound.

"You are alive because of her, never forget that." Morrison said almost tiredly, his voice betraying just how many times he must have had that particular discussion with Reaper before.

"Yeah, and she didn't even have the decency to do it properly." He spat dripping with disgust "Listen, that's not the point."

Widowmaker found this to be highly interesting as she stared at Reaper with curiosity. "So, Mercy revived you,  _oui?_ " she asked. "And you hate her for it? Is that the reason why you were so angry with her when we were escaping from the Talon freighter in Russia?"

Reaper made a deep sound reminiscent of a feral beast. "You know nothing." He said. "Someone else had to fix what she screwed up. I might be alive because of her, but I couldn't live anymore. I was dead, yet still walking. My soul was already on the other side. You wouldn't understand."

"Gabriel," the general secretary leaned forward in her desk, folding her hands neatly over each other. "I never knew someone else helped with your condition." Smiling at the masked man, she pressed further. "Who was it?"

A groan later he gave in, albeit clearly not happy about it. "A geneticist named Moira O'Deorain." He said reluctantly. "She used to be Blackwatch, too, before she joined Talon. She might have gotten a little  _inspiration_ from the Swiss-cheese-bitch. Always wanted to surpass her. Always failed."

"One of the traitors?" Morrison wanted to know.

"No idea, honestly. It's not like it matters anymore. She was executed along the whole of Talon's Biotech division a few years-" he suddenly stopped mid sentence. "-I just thought about something. Gotta go." Reaper said before he stood and vanished in deep grey smoke. A moment later he was gone, leaving three people back at the office, two of which were staring blankly. Widow was not one of them.

"Never going to get used to that." Royce muttered under her breath.

"Ok, his weirdness aside, let me get this all straight." Widowmaker said, moving to sit down in Reaper's chair. She did so with such enormous grace that Lilith Royce found herself actually gulping while watching. That woman was both enchanting and infuriating.  _And still very much dangerous,_ she had to remind herself. All the time when Royce had told the story about how Overwatch was shut down and how she had given Reaper and Morison their secret missions, the former assassin was quiet and listened. It was easy to forget Widowmaker could have easily killed them all with a spoon if she chose to and wouldn't have even broken a sweat.

"Disabling Overwatch the way it was done had only one purpose and that was to get someone into Talon. Namely Reaper."

The General Secretary nodded "And of course render the moles useless, so they can be flushed out." She added. Widow ignored the addition and continued. "Morrison and Mr. Enthusiasm were always working together since that time. For you. The General Secretary of the United Nations."

"They were."

"What about all the missions he carried out?" Widow wanted to know. "I remember fragments of them. Wasn't exactly low profile."

"Some missions were done to keep his cover, some to aid our true goal." Morrison replied.

Widow pondered that for a moment. She had an idea.

"I see." This was her chance. Whenever she had talked to Tracer about the matter, they ended up in front of a metaphorical wall. How would they convince the commander to let her fight again? Now, that wasn't a question anymore. She could join the fight again, do what she did best and also get revenge. This was what she wanted. The thrill of the hunt was back and despite feeling a little nervous about it, Widow knew that this was different. No matter where that thrill was coming from, she  _wanted_ it. It was a part of her, just as much as Lena was now. And if everything would go the way she imagined, they would soon stand together against a common enemy. She couldn't have asked for more, really. "And that goal was, and still is, to bring down Talon and kill the head?" Widow knew what the answer to this question would be. She knew and she had come to a decision.

"No prisoners on this one, Widow." Morrison said sternly. "Reaper and I have been trying to get our hands on you for a long time. We knew that we would need someone with your particular skills if we wanted to succeed in the end. Unfortunately, you never had a reason to leave Talon. You never  _wanted_ to. And not for a lack of us trying."

Morrison knew he made a mistake the moment the last sentence had left his lips.

Her eyes narrowed and she glared at him in a way that meant nothing good would follow. "What is that supposed to mean?" she demanded, her voice warning him to be very careful now.

"What I said." He said carefully, before elaborating further. "We tried to give you a reason, so you'd want to leave Talon." He shrugged in feigned disinterest. If he told her now that he had been sending Tracer on missions where the two would inevitably run into each other, Widow would have most likely thrown him out of the window. Morrison wasn't completely daft, he was well aware that he couldn't disclose that. Not only would he ruin the mission, he would also most likely ruin the relationship between Lena and Amélie. While that wasn't his top concern, he still wanted to avoid it. After all, Tracer had no idea about any of his schemes. "Took us a while to figure out you had a certain ...  _fondness_  for one of our agents. We weren't so sure who it was at first, Ziegler or Oxton, but that was hardly important-"

_SLAP_!

The imprint of Widowmaker's slender hand was already forming with some painful red outlines on Morrison's cheek as she spoke. "If you dare to speak one more word I will kill you,  _compris?_ As a matter of fact, let's get some rules out of the way before we go any further. If you dare to get her into trouble, I will kill you. If you use her against me, I will kill you. If you even  _think_ about repeating what you and Reaper did tonight, I will kill you. Slowly. Are we clear about that?" Widow glared at Morrison. She intentionally didn't specify who of the two women was the correct guess, even though the commander probably knew by now. Their conversation the day before should have been an indicator.

The General Secretary could only watch from the sidelines, blinking in surprise.

Morrison stared at Widowmaker, rubbing his cheek. Murderous intent was glowing behind her eyes and while he was certain that he might stand a chance against her in a fair hand to hand combat, he doubted that she would fight fairly. He was merely a soldier. She was the world's best assassin. There was a clear difference and it wasn't one working in his favor.

"Crystal." He uttered and Widow turned to Royce with all the determination in the world. It was like she knew exactly what needed to be done in that moment.

"I want a guarantee that I will not be prosecuted for what I did during my time at Talon and that I'm free to live my life however I want after this is done. Do that for me and I'm all yours."

Royce couldn't help but smirk. Getting to watch how Morrison was put in his place was mildly satisfying. Widowmaker had the right kind of mix between ice and fire. "No idea what you're talking about, Madame Lacroix. If I recall correctly you were part of this mission from day one. You just followed orders, after all."

Amélie nodded. "Just say the word if you need someone dead then." She said and stood up, heading for the door. "You coming or what?" she hissed at Morrison.

-/-

* * *

 

**London, Kings Row, apartment of Lena Oxton, two days later.**

She hated this.

She really did.

Vacation. What utter bullshit that was. Winston was too worried all the time, almost like Angela. She didn't need  _vacation_ , she was perfectly fine. A little roughed up maybe, but not in need of vacation. Mercy took care of all her scars and the healing, she was fine. She had stayed in bed long enough at the Watchpoint, there was no need for any more rest.

Especially now that Amélie disappeared with the Commander. Which was just completely strange on so many levels.

_"Chérie, I have to tell you something."_ Amélie had said, her fingers running through Tracer's hair.  _"I need to go with that stupid Commander of yours. It's... important."_  She had added. Lena wanted to know why and where she was going, but Widow couldn't tell her. Lena saw how much it bugged her lover that she was obviously unable to tell her, so she let it go.

Still...

What where they up to?

It wasn't like Tracer was jealous or anything. She had no reason to be. Amélie would never cheat on her and surely not with someone like  _Morrison_. The thought alone made her snort in amusement. No, Lena was merely curious. And maybe a little hurt that her lover didn't tell her what she was up to.

They never had any secrets from each other, so why now? What was so important for Widowmaker that she couldn't tell Lena? Or maybe Tracer was thinking about this the wrong way? Maybe it wasn't so important for Amélie, but way more important for Morrison? Then again, why would the commander tell Widowmaker something he wouldn't tell her? Unless... for a brief moment Tracer considered the notion that Amélie found out about a dirty secret Morrison was hiding, but the whole thought seemed idiotic. The Commander was an honorable man, he wouldn't have any dirty secrets. Maybe the whole problem was about Talon?

Lena's guessing didn't take her anywhere. She wouldn't get a chance to ask Widow anytime soon, because Winston had put Lena on  _vacation._ Ha! Vacation. Sure. More like banishment.  _"You need to have some time to heal properly and relax. You haven't been home in so long Lena. Take some time off. It will do you good. I already arranged a flight for you tonight."_ he had said. Great. Thanks a lot, big guy.

Deciding that it was finally time to eat something, Lena dropped a torque spanner and a screwdriver into her toolbox and headed for the elevator. She hadn't eaten anything all day, after she had gotten up this morning, Lena had gone straight to the garage in the basement, she had been in the mood for working on her long term project. Now, however, it was definitely time for something to eat. So, this was technically her breakfast, despite the time already indicating it was well past five. Better late than never.

As Lena walked into her flat, she pulled off her shirt on the way to her cozy little kitchen and tossed the greasy piece of clothing over a chair. It would have to wait there for the next load of laundry. With only a plain black bra and a long grey sweat pant on, Tracer leaned over the sink and washed her hands thoroughly. She had been tinkering on her long term project today and got dirty. As usual. Oil was a bitch, really, especially how it had that annoying tendency to get stuck underneath the finger nails and simply refused to ever crawl back out from there.

After deeming her fingers adequately clean, Tracer grabbed a box of cereal and a carton of milk from the fridge. Why she kept the cereal in the fridge, Lena had no idea anymore. It became a habit.

Pouring the cereal into a bowl, Lena's thoughts wandered.

Without Amélie around her days were simply... dull. Boring. Nothing seemed like it was worth the trouble anymore. It was crazy how fast Lena got used to a working relationship again. Especially since the last one she had derailed in such a catastrophic manner, that Lena actually thought she would never enter another one ever again. She didn't think she could ever deal with the heartbreak again.

_Look how great that went. You fell in love with a Talon assassin. What could possibly go wrong, right?_

She snorted in annoyance while scratching her butt in a very unladylike manner. How wrong she had been. Now all Lena could think of was how she just wanted her stupid vacation to be over and to go back to Gibraltar. Or anywhere really, just as long as Amélie would be there. It was almost scary how fast the purple French lady had been able to fill a hole in Lena's heart. She missed her badly, her presence, her smell, her touch. She craved her. Now if only-

The doorbell ripped Lena out of her reverie.

She jerked startled, spilling some of the cereal all over her kitchen counter. What a shit day.

Setting the box aside, Lena headed for the door and opened it, expecting it to be Ms. Richards, one of her neighbors. The elderly lady was very nice, but tended to have a problem with today's technology. Lena had actually repaired the woman's toaster when she had been home the last time.

A blonde mane was the first thing Lena saw.

That distinctive color and haircut could have only been one person's, and it wasn't Ms. Richards.

Lena blinked.

"Am I interrupting something,  _Süße?_ " Angela said, giggling softly. "Or is it too hot for you?"

Lena's confusion turned into a beaming smile. "Ha. Ha. Angela. Funny. What'cha doing here? I thought you were busy helping Fareeha back to her former self."

For a moment Tracer could have sworn there was a small blush on her best friend's cheeks, but it was gone as fast as it came. "Oh, I thought she could use a change of scene. She is waiting downstairs. Stairs are still a bit difficult for her."

"Eh? You left her outside? Angela, she's not a dog!" Lena laughed. "Go get her and come in!" she said, gesturing toward the staircase. Mercy, however, shook her head.

"Actually, I just came to drop something off." Angela smiled. In the same moment, someone walked forth from behind the wall of the hallway. Since Lena hadn't actually left her apartment, she had no way of seeing the person hiding there.

She was wearing a long black coat, buttoned up all the way to her neck with the collar standing up. Her skin was pale from make-up and her hair was pulled into an extremely tight topknot, but no matter what disguise, Lena would recognize her anywhere, anytime. She'd know those golden eyes without a doubt.

"Have fun you two." Mercy said as she turned around and walked back down the staircase, her heels clicking on the wooden steps slowly fading.

"Sooo" Widowmaker hummed. "Are you going to ask me inside?"

She didn't get an answer. Lena reached out, grabbed the collar of Amélie's coat and pulled her forward. Their lips crashed together and Tracer hungrily claimed Widow's mouth in a wave of heated passion. Her tongue demanded entrance and soon enough it was fighting for dominance with the cool counterpart. Kissing Amélie never lost its excitement. It was like freefalling, disconnected from reality, like the real world around them just stopped existing. Time raced and still stood still simultaneously. Aware of her own pounding heart in her chest, Lena pulled Amélie closer, her arms finding their way into her lover's coat and under her shirt. Hot hands met cool skin and Widowmaker shivered.

Breaking away from the mind-blowing kiss, Amélie smirked at Lena. "Why hello. I missed you too,  _chérie._ "

"Shut up and come in already." Lena moaned and pulled her lover inside, kicking the door shut. "Damn I missed you, luv. You" She kissed her. "Have" Another kiss. "No" Another one filled with passion burning brightly. "Idea."

Amélie found herself pressed against the wall in Tracer's vestibule, while the bubbly Overwatch agent kissed down her neckline with glazed, lusty eyes. Oh, she didn't mind that kind of aggressiveness one bit. Reaching down and grabbing Lena on her butt, Amélie lifted the smaller woman up and turned them around, now pressing Tracer against the very same spot. Two can play that game.

"You want me to do you right here, or do you think we can make it to your bed?" Widow purred into Lena's ear, her voice dripping with sexual need.

"Why not both?" Lena hummed, attacking a particularly sensitive spot on Amélie's neck. "Too much clothes" she added, tucking on Widow's coat.

The annoying piece of clothing soon gone and Amélie's dark blouse unbuttoned, Lena was delighted to find out that her lover  _still_ wasn't overly fond of underwear. Her hand wandered down her lover's side, tracing her cold skin ever so gently. She rested her hand on Widow's hip for a moment, playing with the hem of her grey pencil skirt, her other hand grabbing at the back of her girlfriend while they kissed passionately.

Lena's bra was long gone and Amélie was busy teasing the revealed flesh underneath as Lena slid her hand over Widow's skirt, hooked her thumb into the lower hem, and pulled the fabric upward. In doing so, she revealed an elaborate black lacy garter belt holding a pair of elegant silken stockings of the same color. And that was everything. Searching for any panties would have been futile.

"You naughty vixen" Lena whispered as she nibbled on Amélie's earlobe while her hand was teasingly stroking the impossibly soft flesh on her lover's thighs, deliberately avoiding touching her anywhere else. So close and yet so far.

"You love it" Amélie moaned, the hot sensation of Tracer's fingers on her thighs and the joints on the inside of her hips was driving her crazy. Her lower body was starting to prickle with anticipation and need, but the relieving touch didn't happen. There would be lots of teasing tonight it seemed.

"Mhhh... I do" Lena replied, her hand drawing circles around Amélie's most private parts, but still not touching it. It was driving Widow insane and she tried to grind her hips against Lena's hand. The hand was gone the moment Amélie tried to push herself against Tracer.

"Uh. Uh." Lena hummed with an evil smirk and Widow could only groan in frustration. She decided to change her approach.

With a quick yank Lena's sweatpants and panties were ripped down and exposed her completely. A cool finger slid down from Tracer's neck, in between her breasts where the provisory accelerator used to be, and down over her belly button. For a second Widow wondered how Lena was keeping her presence, she didn't see her small accelerator and she obviously wasn't wearing her large one. Then again, all that mattered was, that Tracer  _was_ here, not  _how_ she was here. Anything else was for later. Amélie took her time, slowly moving her finger up and down, teasingly circling around Lena's breasts too, but not touching the more sensitive parts.

"You should know better than to tease me like that,  _chérie._ " Widow purred, her voice filled with that ridiculously sexy French accent.

She got a toothy grin from Lena as a reply. "I want you, Amélie." She whispered.

Widow didn't need to be told twice. Their bodies crashed together against the wall, a playful struggle for who would get to push whom against it, hands exploring their bodies, knowing full well how to drive the other to the brink of insanity. It was all one big haze of kisses, moans, touching, and stumbling somewhere else.

They had no idea how they suddenly ended up in Lena's messy sheets and frankly they didn't care for even one second. Lena was in the process of kissing a trail of burning, passionate kisses down Amélie's body, letting the older woman shiver each time her lips sucked on her cool flesh, or her tongue licked over her skin, leaving a warm, shimmering trail.

"Lena!  _Merde_ " Amélie cried in bliss as Tracer kissed and nibbled on the soft flesh of her lover's inner thighs again, moving closer and closer to a glistening and obviously well aroused part of her body. Widow's hands were buried in Lena's unruly hair and directed her girlfriend towards the place she wanted her to kiss. It didn't help a lot, Lena took her sweet time, stroking Amélie's shivering body and kissing  _so incredibly_ close to the real deal. Closer. Closer. Amélie could feel Lena's hot breath against her wet place. It was almost enough to send another shiver of pleasure through her body. And then, when she was so sensitive that even a sharp breath felt like overstimulation, Lena finally decided that now was the right time to devote attention to the most sensitive area on Widowmaker's body. Gently at first, but quickly becoming more aggressive, savoring Amélie's unique taste while Lena kissed, sucked and licked.

The moans of ecstasy filling the air was nothing short of music in Lena's ear, as she continued her ministrations. Widow couldn't help but let go of Lena's bushy hair with one hand and grab at the sheets, trying her best to hold on to something, anything really, while Lena continued to rock her world.

There was only one thing left on her mind and that was Lena Oxton. Everything else was forgotten.

This was wonderful.

It was freeing.

Perfect.

-/-

Meanwhile Pharah and Mercy were slowly strolling through town, merely window-shopping. Even though the night had already claimed London in its darkness, people were still busy on the streets. Nighttime London was hardly less bright and colorful than during the day, maybe even more so. People were happily minding their own business, couples were searching for a nice place to have a romantic dinner and late night shoppers were searching for the perfect store to buy their desired goods at.

None of that mattered to the two women lazily walking down the street. Fareeha had linked arms with the good doctor, walking close to her. She would have lied when she'd have claimed this was only because Fareeha desired the close proximity to Angela more than anything else. However, she twisted and turned it in her head, she had to rely on Mercy's support to walk. Her own balance was still not perfect. She could walk again, but stumbled sometimes or lost her footing. With someone's help, however, she was perfectly fine.

Well, as long as they were walking slowly, which Mercy did. Fareeha was happy either way. She was relatively certain that this was probably the closest she would ever get to Angela. So, she took it.

"Are Lena and Widow going to be alright? I feel bad for just dropping her at Lena's place like that. Do you think she got the impression that she wasn't welcome to go with us?"  _Which doesn't mean I don't mind her not being here._

"Oh, Amélie wouldn't have wanted to go with us anyway, don't worry about them. They are going to be just fine." Mercy laughed and Fareeha could have sworn that Angela knew more than she let on. Something about how her question was dismissed without a care in the world made her think that she was missing something important. Still, Pharah decided not to press the matter further. It was hardly of any importance after all.

"So..." Angela said in good spirits after walking for a while in comfortable silence. "Where do you want to go?" The cheerful, unguarded smile Mercy gave her was enough to let a soft blush appear on Fareeha's cheeks. That woman really was an angel after all.

"I've never been to London." Fareeha replied carefully. She didn't want to seem indecisive, but she also had no idea what to do.

"Tell you what." Mercy stopped and turned to face Fareeha, holding both her hands in her own. "There is a small park nearby. Let's go there and sit down for a bit, while we come up with a plan." She suggested, almost getting lost in those deep hazel eyes. Finally, the spark of life had returned into them. Despite being injured and not able to walk alone yet, Pharah had regained a lot of that air of strength she used to radiate. The endless confidence that filled the room whenever she entered.

Angela caught how she wanted to step a little closer into Fareeha's arms, but she stopped herself. Pharah was a friend, maybe. A patient, for sure. Where was this coming from? Why was Mercy suddenly so acutely aware of those tight, well trained muscles underneath the soldier's skin tight black shirt? Her smell? Her warmth? How her eyes reflected the orange street lights, giving them an almost magical shimmer?  _Oh damn..._

"Angela?" Pharah asked and Mercy shook her head to snap out of it.

"S-Sorry" she uttered, looking away in shame. What was wrong with her? What was she thinking? This wasn't like her at all! What was happening? "I kind of zoned out for a moment."

"I noticed" Fareeha beamed at her. Her smile would have been even wider had she known the reasons why Angela lost focus. "We don't have to go out longer, if you're tired. We can go back to the hotel. Very slowly."

" _Nein, nein_ " Mercy shook her head, taking a deep breath and calming herself. "Just a lot on my mind. A little distraction will be good for me and you. Let's go." She said. Right. It was just because of work. She had been at it for too long and had forgotten how to properly relax. How to make friends. Maybe she had gone too long without some  _action._ It had been a while after all. Pent up lust, that was all. Hormones. She was a doctor, she knew how her body worked. No big deal. She was projecting that on Pharah, without a doubt. And that was unprofessional. Right. Mercy decided, she would cool off for now, and take care of that issue later. Either alone in the hotel or she'd find someone in one of the bars later on. Nothing to it. She'd be her old self in no time again.

"Want to grab some ice-cream?" Angela asked, pressing her thoughts to the back of her head.

"Sounds good." Fareeha replied with a smile.

-/-

* * *

 

**Arctic sea, formerly Soviet nuclear powered icebreaker 'Sibir', officially decommissioned. 2322 hours.**

Sombra had no idea how she ended up here. It was retarded, really. The constant ship-hopping was driving her nuts, and now she was stuck on a hundred-fifty meter long and twenty thousand tons heavy deep frozen steel coffin.

Just. great.

The moist dream of her sleepless nights, really.

She was a Latina, her whole body functioned on one thing above anything else, and that was warmth and sunshine.  _Neither_ of which this place offered. It was bad enough that there was no daylight basically all around the clock. Sunshine meant energy for Sombra. But ok, she could have lived without that, if not for the other half of her comfort zone missing, too.

What really made her slowly lose her mind were those temperatures. How could  _anyone_  in their right mind survive this? The rooms were heated nicely, sure, but Sombra could feel the ice cold winds howling outside the four times isolated windows. She could feel it in her bones, that never fading, all consuming cold outside, freezing anything and everything.

A shudder ran down her body and she flinched as she was stung by a painful sensation in between her legs. God what had she been thinking when she went ahead and got that place pierced? It was such a stupid idea. Yet, at the time, she really thought it would be cute and sexy. After all, she had her nipples done too, so why not go for the complete look? Yeah, she regretted that decision now. For some reason, the newly added decoration didn't heal properly. Sombra had no idea why. And that dammed cold didn't help one bit.

She groaned, zipped her hoody up all the way and got back to work. Things were actually looking really good. Good enough to think about deploying Alchys, the new god-program, soon.

Which meant she would have to contact the boss.

Which was something Sombra didn't want to do. What a creeper, how anyone wanted to vote for that man was beyond her, but current polls were looking rather favorable for him _. Well, politicians_ , she thought,  _more actors than people's representatives_.

Sighing, because she knew that she couldn't avoid it anyway, Sombra reached for the phone and dialed a number with one finger, while leaning back in her chair. She pressed the device to her ear with her shoulder and adjusted the blanket she used to keep her legs and feet warm. Seriously, you have no idea how cold this place felt.

"What is it?" A voice asked after a few cycles of ringing.

"It's me," Sombra said in her usual flippant tone "You wanted me to call you when we are ready to move into phase three?"

"Are we?"

"No, I just thought I'd annoy you a bit."

"Sombra..." the man on the other end warned and Sombra smirked. She liked not being in the same room with that creepster. It made things so much easier.

"Of course it's ready. Why do you think I'm calling?"  _Because I sure as hell wouldn't want to talk to you if I wouldn't have to._

"Good. Very good. Time to move on then."

"I'll take care of it."

"No. Change of plans, I'm afraid." He said. "I want you to do me a favor." Sombra froze. This time not because of the cold.

-/-

What was wrong with these people?! Sombra had enough. She prided herself on her moral flexibility, but some things were too far, even for her. Screw the job, screw the money, she was done. What the boss wanted her to do was just too much. No way in hell.

She hastily slammed the stuff she needed the most into a kitbag. Her SMG, magazines, two of her translocators, a few datapads, some backups with stuff she could use for blackmailing, a plush teddy and a picture frame.

Tossing the kitbag toward the door Sombra initiated the automatic data-destruction on her terminal, activating a routine she had written herself. Nothing of what she had been doing here would be left. Quickly making sure the program was doing its work, Sombra turned and slipped into the warmest pants she had, put on the heaviest boots and put on the ridiculously fluffy, but amazingly warm parker she owned.

Facing that cold shit out there one more time.

Urgh.

She could do it. Grabbing the kitbag and tossing it over her shoulder, Sombra ripped the door open and stalked outside, finding her way to the helipad.

Talon wouldn't mind if she'd  _borrow_ one of the VTOLs they had so many of. She quickly hurried along, hoping no one would-

"And here I thought you hated the cold?" a voice which could only belong to  _one_ person in the world asked. Sombra had to think quickly. Attack him or lie? Her weapon was in her kitbag. Besides, she was facing  _him._ No chance. Lying then.

"Oh, Gabe." She turned around, hugging her form to emphasize how cold she was. "I do. Which is why I'm out of here."

"Is that so?"

"My work here is done. I'm no longer needed. And I'd rather spend the night on the plane knowing I'm heading toward some warmer climate than freezing to death here."

Reaper merely chuckled, as he stared her down. He knew she was lying. He knew it. "Is that so?" he asked, not letting her off the hook.

"Why else would I move my ass outside with my stuff packed? I got paid. I'm done. I'm leaving. Got a problem with that, Gabe? Mhh? Will you miss me?" she leaned forward with a grin.

"Not at this range" he replied. "Catch you around, Sombra" he turned around and left.

Sombra headed for her jet, eager to get out of here. Her destination wouldn't be a lot warmer, however. It didn't matter, she'd be safe there. For a while.

She didn't notice how Reaper reached for his phone.

-/-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> "Hey, patate, what are you doing?"
> 
> -I'm sitting on my typewriter. Take a wild guess, Amélie.
> 
> "Oui, oui. Not in a good mood?"
> 
> -Been better. 
> 
> "Angela invited us to dinner today. Come on, you have to get ready."
> 
> -...
> 
> "Don't look at me like that. You are coming with us. She said she will personally see to it that you eat properly again."
> 
> \- Yes, Mom. 
> 
> "Don't you mom me. I see that blush on your face. You don't have me fooled. Come on now, hurry up, we are running late."
> 
> Alright boys and girls, apparently I am needed somewhere else. Oh the horror... Not. 
> 
> I will just stop apologizing for the wait between chapters, its starting to feel ridiculous. Good news is: The next chapter is already almost ready. The bad news is: I do have some stuff coming up for university. Sooo... yeah. We'll see how updates go. 
> 
> Personally, I hate this chapter for so many reasons, but there it is. My beta, Jfb715 told me it was alright and that I don't need to worry, but I am a little worryrat. So, thanks to him and his great work, you get to enjoy this chapter today. Thanks a lot, mate, you rock! 
> 
> Also: Thanks to each and every one of you out there. Your feedback is amazing, all the reviews, favs and follows mean a lot to me! Thank you very much *bows in deep respect* 
> 
> I hope you all are going to have a great time and that you enjoy life to the fullest! Keep it up, you are all amazing! 
> 
> See you next time (definitely before Christmas)
> 
> o7
> 
> E82


	37. tears of ice

_In an emergency meeting yesterday evening after yet another Omnic attack on civilians, the German senate instated high chancellor Adenauer with yet another set of emergency authorities. With this action, the senate completed the set of measures taken after the Omnium incident in Austria, effectively bestowing the position of high chancellor with the rights to rule in a way comparable to a dictator._

_Adenauer showed herself worried about these drastic measures, but accepted reluctantly. She yet again stressed her love for the Republic of Germany and the democracy. She reaffirmed that she would immediately lay down those powers once the crisis has been averted. As the first measure taken with her new authority, Adenauer firstly declared a nationwide state of emergency, ordering the German army to re-enforce existing police forces. She furthermore promised to look into the possibility of continuing the former Crusader program from the first Omnic crisis. How and if this is possible after the loss of valuable genetic material during the first war remains to be seen._

_Meanwhile Thirey Savant has referred to Adenauer's proceedings as a prime example of decisiveness and the kind of direction the world needs to be headed. Despite not outright criticizing current UN General Secretary Royce, the jab in her direction was obvious._

_Savant, who will be speaking at a sold out event in Madison Square Garden Saturday evening, has been a heavy supporter of decisive actions against Omnic violence. In current polls Savant is clearly leading before Lilith Royce. The outcome of the elections in January seem obvious as of now._

_How and if Savant contemplates a military campaign against Omnic forces remains to be seen._

* * *

_-/-_

**Russia, St. Petersburg, Private loft of Katya Volskaya.**

A day off was rare for the director of Volskaya industries. The reason wasn't that she couldn't allow herself more time for herself and her family, but instead because she wanted it to be this way. Her company, the company her father's grandfather had founded, lived and died for, just like his son, the son after him and her father did, was her whole life.

She loved her family, sure. Her husband and her daughter, but the truth was that it was a professional love. Her company inspired a burning  _passion,_ which her family didn't and never would. Especially not her husband.

Her daughter was almost as important as her company, and Katya would do anything to make sure that her heir would receive the best education available to become a suitable successor to her. But that was just it. Her daughter was  _almost_ as important as her company, but in the end? In the end, if Katya was brutally honest with herself, the love she felt for her daughter was because she knew that one day the company would be hers.

Should it ever come down to deciding between her daughter's welfare and the welfare of her company... Katya didn't have an immediate answer as to what she would do. And that troubled her. Then again, the entire reason for her family even existing in the first place was a bad joke in and of itself.

She had married Olek, her husband, because it was demanded of her. A woman in her position and of her heritage had to be married to a man of proper status. At least that had been what her parents told her on the day they informed her about her impeding wedding.

They surely didn't exchange the sacred vows of matrimony because of love or attraction. Hell, Katya had never seen Olek before they stood in front of the altar of the  _Khram Khrista Spasitelya_ , the world's largest orthodox church located in Moscow. Its golden roof shimmered beautifully that day in the surprisingly warm January sun and a red carpet had been laid out, leading into the building. The media loved the spectacle and Katya smiled all the time. She did it because it was expected.

She told people how happy she was, because it was expected.

They went on a honeymoon around the world, because that was what people expected.

And she did her deed in the marital bed, even though she didn't desire Olek. That was not to say that her new husband had been treating her badly, not at all. He was a polite, gentle and caring person. A proper gentleman. But Katya didn't love him. Her mother told her, that love would soon follow and that it had been no different for her, when she had married Katya's father, also in an arranged marriage.

Yet, that did not happen. Two years later, Katya still felt nothing for Olek, who was, despite his best efforts to hide it, growing increasingly frustrated with his wife. Soon, they had a lengthy and difficult discussion about their marriage, their feelings or lack thereof and their plans for the future. How each one of them thought things should be like in the future. They agreed that they were not meant for each other, but also knew that they couldn't divorce. The company would suffer. Their status would suffer. They didn't want to risk that.

So, they agreed on having one child together so that the name Volskaya could live on and would then go their separate ways, only appearing together at official events. Which they did. Was it normal? Heavens no, Katya knew that. But it worked. She could concentrate on her work and Olek could sleep with whoever he wanted. He had been honorable enough to not have a mistress before their agreement.

So, Katya was alone in her loft, sitting on a modern armchair next to a fake fire, a white silk night gown loosely hung around her shoulders. It was open wide, giving most of her slender, nude body away. She had just put it on to see out the usual man she paid for sex. She was a regular customer of his. He took her hard and relentlessly, just like she liked it, and was good looking enough. He was very discrete, too, which was his most important trait. Volskaya usually saw him every one or two weeks, whenever she felt like it and he never left her unsatisfied.

Deciding that she didn't want to think about her family or her fucked up love life or why her company was more important to her than her daughter any more, Katya stood up and headed for the liquor cabinet. On the way there, she heard a weird rattling noise from her front door, which caused her to frown.

She forgot about her plans to have a drink and moved toward the front door. Someone had slipped a note into her loft. Quickly checking the surveillance screen next to the door for any unwanted visitors, Katya sighed in relief. For a moment, she thought that that mad Mexican woman was back again. Luckily, she wasn't. With shaking fingers Volskaya reached for the note.

It was an envelope, with her name written onto it. She tore the paper sealing open and a small disc together with a post-it reading " _play me"_ slipped into her hand.

A heavy frown appeared on Katya's forehead as she clenched the disk in her hand. Nothing good would ever come from messages like  _this._

Naturally, Katya didn't like how her evening was beginning to develop. Not for a second. She headed over to the liquor cabinet and poured herself a glass of pure vodka before she moved toward her work-terminal and put the disk in. Taking a large swig from the glass, she waited for the video to play.

And it did, showing nothing Katya might have expected.

She thought about someone blackmailing her again. Maybe even Sombra? She thought about someone demanding money, because her daughter had been abducted. Those were the thoughts in Katya's mind. She expected a masked figure, sitting in a dark room and speaking with contorted voice.

But what the director of Volskaya industries saw, was nothing like she expected.

A good looking, well dressed man was sitting in a large, brightly lit and friendly office. There were large windows behind him, showing the skyline of a city Katya didn't recognize. He had steel blue eyes and platinum blonde hair and was wearing a light grey suit which fit him perfectly. He might be considered a rather handsome guy.

 _"Good evening Director Volskaya."_  The nameless man started. " _First of all, please excuse this... unconventional method of contacting you._ " a soft smile spread over his face and his immaculate teeth shined through for a moment.

" _Allow me to introduce myself briefly. My name is Abraxas Schrodinger, I am counsellor to a very specific organization._ " He made a long pause. " _That organization is known to you as Talon. Now, it is my understanding, that my clients and your company haven't been on good terms the last few years, but fear not. We are intent on changing that. The reason for this message is an offer of peace and possibly partnership. It is our understanding that a mutual effort in times like these are to both of our organizations best interests. My clients would like to offer you the following:_ "

Abraxas cleared his throat, smiling gently again, yet his eyes betrayed how very serious the man was about his job. His smooth voice and friendly demeanor couldn't manage to hide the fact that Mr. Schrodinger was a tough as nails lawyer who knew exactly what he was doing. Lady Volskaya was listening carefully, not fully believing what she was hearing.

 _"Firstly, a written, secret reassurance that there will be no more Talon authorized actions of any kind against both Volskaya Industries as a company as well as Katya Volskaya or her family as a person. Secondly, a government authorized trade deal for assault rifles, heavy weapons, mechs and infantry transport and support vehicles in a volume of approximately 450 billion credits."_ At the mentioning of that kind of money, Katya dropped her glass of vodka onto the exquisite Iranian handmade carpet she was standing on.  _"All you have to do is do us a small favor. On the back of the note attached to this disk, you will find a number. We want you to contact this number in the event that a woman named Sombra reaches out to you. I am sure you may be wondering about the reasons for such an offer simply to find that woman. Suffice it to say, we have to settle an outstanding score with her. Contrary to her value to you, she is of a certain importance to Talon. A value which conditions you know now. I hope this deal is agreeable to you. It is business after all. Please contact the number only then should the described event happen. In doing so, you agree to the terms of this deal."_ The screen turned black and Volskaya stared at it for another solid minute.

No more Talon attacks?

A trade deal for 450 billion credits?

All in exchange for a woman who was blackmailing her? Oh, Sombra was in serious trouble.

Then again, Morrison also wanted Sombra, and she promised him she would call him.

She didn't promise him she'd call no one else, though.

Still, it was  _Talon..._

* * *

-/-

**London suburbs, the next morning**

The all consuming darkness slowly begun to fade and gave way to shimmering, soft light. A cool yet soft cocoon was wrapped around her naked body, the velvet fabric brushing tenderly against her cold skin. The peaceful tranquility in her mind was more and more pushed out of her mind, the quiet, but noticeable sounds of reality penetrating her ears. Amélie blinked and stretched her body, some of her joints creaked. It has been a while since she had woken up this comfortable and this gentle. Sighing deeply, her arm slid over to her lover's side of the bed, seeking to snuggle up against her, yet where she anticipated her own source of warmth and comfort, the bed was both cold and vacant.

Not what she expected.

Slowly sitting up in the bed, the blanket sliding off her naked body, Amélie looked about the room. Indeed, there was no Lena to be found inside the cozy small bedroom in her girlfriend's apartment. It was also way too quiet for Tracer to be anywhere in the apartment. No trace of her was to be found. However, what Amélie  _did_  find was a small note left on the nightstand together with a beautiful red rose in a small vase. The dark red petals were almost glowing in the soft orange morning light shimmering through the closed window of the bedroom. The rays of sunlight were reflecting in small grains of dust floating slowly through the air, as if they were almost frozen in time.

Unable to not smile ever so faintly, Amélie reached for both the flower and the letter, smelling on the former while unfolding the latter. After inhaling the sweet scent of the rose and putting it back into the vase, Widow brought her attention to the note. It was written in Lena's handwriting and didn't say a lot.

_Good morning Blueberry,_

_You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn't have the heart to wake you up. Thought I let you sleep in._

_Come and find me in the garage when you get up :)_

_I love you,_

_Lena_

_P.S. Have I told you how adorably cute you look when you sleep? I could watch you for hours and I'm definitely not being creepy, ok?_

Amélie snorted a little when she read the last line. She was  _not_ cute and she wished that Lena would stop calling her that. Or at least she pretended to wish that, deep inside she had to admit that it made her feel appreciated, wanted and desired whenever Lena called her cute. It was something about the way Lena pronounced the word, she always made it sound  _hot._

Deciding to go and search for the garage, Widow got up, grabbed one of Lena's old air force shirts and a pair of sweatpants lying around and put them on. The shirt was a little difficult to get in because it was obviously too small. It hugged Amélie's curves very tightly and left her belly mostly exposed, but the assassin didn't really care. Neither did she care to fix her hair beyond some quick disentangling with her fingers, while she walked past the mirror in Lena's vestibule. The mirror Widow had scribbled her goodbye note onto all those months ago. It now seemed like a whole lifetime ago.

She would obviously be going for the bed-hair look today. Or better, for the sex-bed look, taking the line of huge deep purple hickeys and badly bruised skin down her neck into consideration.

Amélie traced one of her fingers down the markings and smiled. She would wear Lena's love bites with pride. Besides, it wasn't like her bubbly lover would look any better.. Oh, quite the contrary in fact with all the sucking, nibbling and biting Amélie did the past night.

With her looks checked and defined as not in need of change in that moment, Amélie strode toward the door confidently, pulled it open and stepped out into the staircase. It was only when the door behind her fell into the lock that she realized two things

Where the fuck was the garage?

She had no key. Hopefully Lena had brought hers.

Widow frowned slightly, deciding that she can't really change the key problem anymore and that the location of the garage could not be that hard to figure out. It must have been somewhere in the basement after all. So, Amélie headed for the elevator, not particularly keen on walking down all those stairs. She pressed the lowest button on the panel inside the elevator and waited for the doors to close, the metal box to move and the doors to open again.

To her surprise Widowmaker didn't find herself in the basement, but instead at a very bright and friendly, yet ancient entry hall at ground level. The staircase ended right next to the elevator and didn't go further down either. Widowmaker looked around a little but didn't discover any indicators of where that damn garage might be.

Irritation spread across her beautiful features.

She hated not knowing what to do or where to go. She should have looked up the blueprints of this building before even going near it, like she always did. Memorizing where emergency exits were, where the main corridors led, which secret routes were available and where they were located had saved her ass on more than one occasion and did come in very handy more often than not. Knowing all the useful things about where she went had always been part of her preparations. Why didn't she do it this time? The last time she had been here it was on a whim and she had actually used her hook to pull herself onto Lena's balcony. Leaving was done in even more a hurry. Back then Amélie didn't have the time to look up the layout of the building. God, she was getting sloppy. And the look on Angela's face when she asked about the layout of Lena's home screamed  _Are you bloody mental?_ so loud that Amélie decided to not ask again. She should have insisted, for she felt like a confused chicken, running around aimlessly.

After walking around in the lobby for a while, making no progress in locating the garage or even the way there, Amélie was anything but happy about the recent development the last few minutes.

That was until the front door, featuring lots of frosted glass, opened and an old lady stepped inside with slow steps. An old lady, that was probably a slight understatement. The woman was  _ancient._ Like, really. Amélie actually paused for a moment and stared, someone this old should not be able to walk anymore. Or breathe. Her dry, wrinkly skin was grey and her colorless eyes had sunk into her skull to a point where they were hardly visible anymore. She had short, ashen hair and was walking in a humped and very careful manner. Carrying a bag of groceries, the old-timer moved toward the staircase. Amélie actually rose an eyebrow at that. The woman would at least take half an hour to even reach first floor. But whatever, not her problem. Better use that opportunity.

"Excuse me?" Amélie said and tried her best to sound friendly. Lena had told her over and over again that it wasn't a good way to sound like she was about to murder everyone in the room in their sleep while talking to someone. At that time Widowmaker decided she was better off nottelling Lena that she didn't only  _sound_ like that.

"Mhh, yes dear? Sorry, I didn't see you standing there," the old woman croaked, carefully turning around on the stairs. She was standing two stairs up already and could barely look Widow in the eyes. "Can I help you somehow? You do look a little lost if I may say so." The woman laughed silently.

For a moment, Widow was taken aback. There she stood, in this sun bathed foyer, wearing a much too small t-shirt and being distinctively  _purple_ without any makeup on and most of her flat, well toned stomach on display. Yet, the older woman didn't seem to care at all. That or she was really blind. Widow cleared her throat, reminding herself that she was supposed to reply something. "Ah, yes, actually, I'm searching the garage."

"And what do you need the garage for, mhh?" The woman asked and narrowed her eyes slightly. Widow only glared at the old-timer with murderous intent, a pang of violence threatening to overcome her.

_Don't strangle her. Don't strangle her. Don't strangle her. It would mean trouble for Lena. Don't do it._

Taking a deep breath to not fall back into her old habit of brutal murder, she replied: "Lena said to meet her there, but she forgot to tell me where it is." Widow supposed that the people living in the same building would know each other. Maybe that would be enough to convince the damn woman that Amélie was allowed to be here and  _finally_ tell her where that damn garage was.

"Ohhh!" the old hag smiled and her small eyes lit up with excitement "You must be Lena's new girlfriend then!" she exclaimed happily, taking a good look at Amélie. "Ah yes, I see. Yes, yes. She really needed someone in her life again, ever since that last girl. She was no good. I always told her, no good." Slowly, obviously straining herself with every move, the grandma moved down from the stairs again and pointed at Amélie in an almost accusing manner. "You be nice to Lena, you hear me young lady? She is a good woman and deserves to be treated well. Always helps when she can, is always there." the nameless woman nodded and Widowmaker narrowed her eyes slightly, not liking how she was being talked to at all. "She fixed my toaster, you know?"

"The toaster.  _Formidable_." Widow huffed, sarcasm dripping from her lips, while she balled her hands into fists."The garage. Where is it?" she pressed.

"Oh yes, of course. I almost forgot. See, if you are 104 years old, your memory won't be the best either."

"I don't plan to live that long." Widow said plainly, albeit too quiet for the grandma to pick up. Instead Amélie just gave her an urging look, fighting back the urge to slam the helpless pensioner into the wall.

"You just walk down the corridor and turn left. There is a white door. Doesn't look like much. Down the stairs and twice left, and you're there. Lena's parker is probably the one with loud music playing."

" _Merci._ " Amélie said curtly and turned to leave.

"Say, my dear, would you mind terribly to help me with those bags?" the grandma asked, and Widowmaker swung around with a murderous expression on her face. It had been much easier when she just threatened people with a slow and painful death to get what she wanted and right now that seemed like a viable option again.

* * *

-/-

With the radio playing some truly old rock songs at maximum volume and of course with her head and most of her lean body stuck under a 1967 Ford Mustang Fastback, Lena didn't hear the door into her small garage opening and someone coming in. She was too focused on her project car anyway.

A more than a hundred year old car and Lena would make it work again. So far Lena had spent many hours of her scarce free time rebuilding that timeless beauty and she was absolutely aware that there would be many more of those hours to come. But one day, her pony car would roll again. So far, most the technical things were running again, she was only waiting for retro break disks since those were really hard to come by these days. Other than that, the Mustang was theoretically drivable again. Something that couldn't be said when she found the poor thing rusting away behind one of the hangars in her old air force days. She just had to rescue this beauty. Her father, her actual father, not the man who had adopted her into his family, had a tiny model of this metal beauty on his desk. That might have played a part in her decision.

Lena only noticed that she wasn't alone anymore when someone suddenly turned the volume of the radio down. "Sorry, was the music too loud?" Tracer called from underneath the car, but didn't get a reply. Frowning curiously, Lena pulled herself out from underneath the machine, rubbing her sweaty face on the sleeve of her shirt.

"What are you doing,  _chérie?_ " Amélie asked, standing in the middle of the garage with her arms crossed behind her back. She gave the car an incredulous look and then eyed Tracer while she walked over to her. There was oil and grease all over the Brit.

"What, no good morning kiss?" Lena laughed and leaned into her girlfriend, giving her a chaste kiss on the lips. "Slept well, luv?"

"Mhh, the bed was cold when I woke up. Apparently, my girlfriend has to do someone more important than me." Widow quipped dryly, raising an eyebrow. "What's her name?"

"Aww, sorry blueberry. This little rust bucket here is Eleanor. She has some issues you know. Needs help and all." Lena giggled and pulled her lover closer, but Amélie crossed her arms over her chest.

"You are all dirty" she said turning her face away. Lena's grip around her loosened and the smaller woman looked almost a little hurt. "You mind?" she asked with a small voice which immediately hit Amélie with the hammer of guilt. She had only been teasing Tracer. Quickly focusing her whole attention on Lena, Widow wrapped her arms around the other woman and pressed her against the frame of the car, kissing her deeply.

"Of course not" she purred "You know I like it  _dirty._ "

Lena only gasped in surprise, but didn't hesitate to return the kiss with fire until Amélie pulled away with a very smug expression on her face.

"You know, it wouldn't have been so bad if you actually told me where that stupid garage was. I had to ask an old hag living here."

"Oh? Ms. Richards?" Lena asked with a slight frown. "Sorry, I hope she wasn't awkward."

"She wanted me to carry her groceries." Widow snorted. "What does she take me for? Some kind of errand girl? Did I mention that I  _hate_ people?"

"Did you help her?" Lena asked carefully, acutely aware that Widow's loyalties were very  _specific._ She knew that, no matter how much Tracer wished it wouldn't be this way, Amélie would still have absolutely zero problems with resorting to violence when she felt it would get her where she wanted to be.

Amélie looked past Lena for a moment " _Oui._ " she replied almost inaudible, shaking her head. Lena felt herself let go of a breath she didn't realize she was even holding. Widow put some distance between them and suddenly the mood shifted.

"Wait, did you think I would have done something to her?" Amélie asked, an unreadable expression on her face. Somehow that question hurt Lena more than she thought. She should be the one who trusted Amélie unconditionally. And she did, it was just that... well, Lena knew that no matter how sweet and caring Amélie was toward her, Widowmaker was still very much a ruthless killer. It would have been a grave mistake to ever forget that.

"Would you?" Lena asked.

"Please,  _chérie._ She was an old woman." Widow replied, now fully turning away from Lena, inspecting the many tools on a small work bench which was pushed against the wall opposite to the Mustang.

"That's not an answer." Lena sighed, reaching for Widow's hand but the other woman pulled it away.

"You don't want an answer." Widow said coolly, not facing Lena. There had been a short time when she thought that she had left her past behind her. The killing. The murder. But it took only one trip to New York and the meeting with the UN General Secretary to show her how utterly wrong she was. The  _excitement_ of the hunt was back. The pure  _thrill_ to be able to stalk her prey until she could deliver the killing blow. The intense  _rush_ she felt when she thought about squeezing the trigger again.

She felt it so strongly. And whenever she thought about  _why,_ she saw Lena, captured by Talon and turned into one of their slaves. Widow got angry, so very angry. The mere thought of someone harming her Lena Oxton made her skin tingle and her bones itch, for she would kill whoever dared to lay hand on the woman she loved.

It wasn't what Lena wanted. Amélie knew that. And she was so ashamed for it. "You don't want to know." She breathed almost inaudibly.

"I do." Tracer whispered.

"Really?" Amélie replied with an equally silent voice. Tracer had no idea. She didn't know what was going on inside her head. About the promise she made to Royce. About what she would do. About her reasons.  _Why?_   _Why?_ Once she lived for Talon. But now? Her entire reason to go on was a young British woman, an annoyance. But Widowmaker knew she wouldn't be able to even draw another breath without that annoyance around.

"Really?" she asked again, louder this time, while turning around. "Lena, have you got any idea of how much you mean to me?" she asked bitterly "Do you have a remote concept of what you did for me, how much I owe you? My whole sense of self, my entire being, is all thanks to  _you._ Each breath I take, I take for you, in each waking moment of my life I think about you, and I  _never_  put you second. Because you are, quite literally, the light that keeps me going. And I don't mean that as some kind of metaphorical bullshit, you literally are. I love you so much,  _chérie,_  it's scaring me. I was never supposed to feel anything and yet for you, I do. With you I can  _be._ But it's all only for  _you._ I'd do anything for you, my love, no matter what. When you were hurt in Austria, that light inside me, it was gone. There was only cold and bitterness left. I went and talked to Morrison. Almost killed him. I would have done it, but he had reasons. I would have killed that old woman if she was a threat to you, I wouldn't have even thought twice about it. I would kill that annoying Asian friend of yours. I would even kill Angela if she'd betray you and I actually like her. I would kill anyone who dares to treat you badly. I wouldn't care for even a moment if the whole world would go down in a fiery blaze if it would mean you are save." Amélie's voice had deteriorated into a stammering mess as she started crying violently while she tried to speak."The truth is, Lena, if you'd give me a gun and told me to shoot myself, I wouldn't even ask why."

The silence spreading in the garage was deafening. Tracer just stood there and could only watch while Widow fell apart and there was nothing Lena could do against it. Nothing. She felt helpless and powerless and had trouble sorting her thoughts in a coherent manner. She didn't even know where to start.

"Amélie?" Lena's face was wet with silent tears, her heart tearing apart with every word her lover spoke.

"I know that this isn't normal. I know that. But I just cannot fucking help it, you hear me? It's just how I am. You fell in love with a murderer, an assassin! A monster! You idiot, why are you here? Why did you ever come after me? You should have run away like any other sensible person would have done! Go find someone normal."

"Amélie?" Lena repeated and got Widow's attention this time.

"What?" she half spat, half cried, her eyes betraying just how much pain Amélie truly felt. How much confusion, anger and... yes, there was fear, lots of it, whirled behind those stern yellow eyes.

Tracer leaned forward and captured Amélie's lips with hers. "I love you, blueberry. And nothing you say or do will ever change that. Everything will be alright eventually. I love you."

To Lena's horror Amélie pushed her away. "You shouldn't! I just told you... You're a fool!"

"Then a fool is what I am." Lena replied, once again stepping closer to her distraught girlfriend.

"No!" Amélie stammered, weakly trying to fend off Lena who was still getting closer to her. "Y-You can't! I can't... What if I ever hurt you? What if I lose it again?" She didn't know what to think anymore. Her mind was a proper mess by now, one thought rolling over the other. Amélie could only stumble backwards until her back hit the cool stone wall, her hands grabbing hectically at her own arms. "Please..." it was barely a whisper, drowning in icy tears.

"You won't." Lena said and reached out to take Amélie's hands into her own. They were shaking badly and so Lena began to draw soothing circles on them, her warm fingers caressing the cold skin. "Amélie look at me." She said with an almost commanding voice.

Bright golden eyes snapped up and fixed themselves on Lena's. "I know you will not hurt me. I know it." Lena said seriously, looking her girlfriend deep in the eyes. "You said it yourself, that I'm imporant to you. I know you won't hurt me more than I can take."

"B-But..." Amélie started again, but was stopped by Lena who again made it past what little defense Widow had put up

"Hush" Lena whispered and pressed her lips softly against Amélie's. "I love you, ok? Forever."

"Why?"

"You always ask that. I don't know and I don't care either. I just do. Amélie, you and I knew that this wouldn't be easy. Things will get better with time, I promise. See where we had been a few months ago and where we're now. We can do this. Sharing your fears with me is important, you know? I just wished I had known how much you suffered because of this, we could have done something about it."

"How can you say this? How can you be this sure?"

"Because I trust you-"

"You shouldn't!" Widowmaker shrieked, trying to push Lena away once again, but to no avail this time. "It's not... you don't..." she tried to explain, but the words didn't come out anymore. Lena was too close. She was too sure of what she said and no matter how scared Amélie had been, how ashamed she was because of what she did and of what she would have to do again, it all started to fade. Maybe there was hope after all?

"Is this about your trip with Morrison?" Lena asked carefully and Widow stared at her for a moment. Then Amélie slowly nodded and Lena gave her a gentle smile. "I promised you that I wouldn't ask any questions. I trust you, ok? And that's not a mistake. I'm sure you are doing what's best."

"How do you know?" Amélie asked.

"Well, luv, so far I was pretty good at getting in there." Lena gently stroked over Amélie's head, the taller woman just let it sink onto Lena's shoulder, while holding onto her. For someone whose feelings had been reduced to zero not too long ago, Widowmaker had begun to feel quite a lot. Love. Anger. Sadness. The fear of losing Lena. Sometimes she wasn't sure what she liked better.

"It's not your fault." Lena whispered, gently stroking through Amélie's hair. "It never was."

Tracer only felt the grip on her tighten as a response and knew that she had to show her girlfriend that life was nothing to be afraid of. That it could be beautiful, fun and full of possibilities. It wasn't just darkness and pain. Not anymore.

"What do you say, we go upstairs, grab a hot, long shower, then we order some breakfast, eat and then we snuggle in bed for the rest of the day. And if you feel up for it, we can go out in the evening. I'm dying to show off my absolutely gorgeous girlfriend."

"Mhm." Amélie mumbled. "Sure you want to go out?"

"We'll see how we feel then. Let's start at the beginning, ok?"

"Shower and breakfast do sound good." Amélie mumbled, lifting her head from the crook of Lena's neck, where she had buried it before. She stared at Tracer for a moment and opened her mouth to apologize, but before the first word could leave her lips, there was a finger placed on them.

"Shh. It's ok. Come on now, let's see what we want for breakfast before we have that shower."

-/-

* * *

**The pink pitcher pub, London suburbs, 2110 hours**

The plan for the day had turned out the exact way Lena had intended. They had grabbed a long, hot and very emotional shower full of gentle caresses and soft reassurances. The steaming hot water washing away their tears, both old and new, and wrapped them in a liquid cocoon of warmth and safety. After a quiet and delicious English breakfast, they had spent the rest of the day cuddling in bed, not talking about much, just holding each other. Once, Amélie spoke about her fears of being left alone without Lena, with the freezing cold in her heart and no one there to thaw it. She also told Tracer that she'd be coming along for missions now, since Morrison promised that. Lena listened mostly, reassuring her lover that she didn't intend to go anywhere anytime soon.

And now they were in the Pink Pitcher. On what was their second proper  _date._  Their first was in Gibraltar, when they were shopping for clothes.

Amélie had agreed on going out, not only because she wanted to make Lena happy, but also because she wanted to prove to herself that she was capable of living an at least somewhat normal life.

Dirk, the bartender of the Pitcher, was very pleased to see Lena with her new girlfriend, who was wearing the same dark grey outfit from the day before. She had applied a light make-up, to cover her purple skin, but despite the disguise, Amélie turned quite a few heads. Even with half a ton of powder and crèmes in her face she was still a breathtakingly beautiful woman.

"So" Dirk started, smirking as he poured Lena her second Whisky of the evening. Amélie stuck to her first glass of red wine. She was very careful with alcohol, as Mercy told her that it might have very negative effects on her modified body. She didn't want to risk anything. Lena didn't like that smile on the huge bartender's face one bit. Not even a little. "When are you going to make an honest woman out of her?"

" _Dirk_!" Lena hissed.

"What? Just look at her." He gestured toward Amélie with a warm smile. He had taken an immediate liking to the French lady the moment they had met. So far Amélie at least didn't seem to outright detest the man, so good progress there. "She is probably the best thing that happened in your life so far, even for your high standards, right? I'm just saying, ok? Someone so beautiful surely has a lot of suitors, right? And let's be real here, Lena, she is even out of  _your_  league, ok?"

"Dirk..." Lena repeated.

"I mean, no offense lady, but are you sure you want to be with that no good piece of work here?" he asked Amélie. "I mean, she isn't exactly a woman who has settled down or something."

"Oh, I'm quite aware." Amélie replied with a cold smile, sipping on her wine.

"Dirk!" Lena grumbled another time.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing, I just thought it would be fair to warn you that Amélie is probably going to smash your head in with the mushy end of your ripped out leg if you speak another word." She said with an easy smile on her lips, but regretted saying what she did the moment the words had left her loose mouth. It wasn't right to joke about that already, was it?

"Oh, I quite disagree" Amélie hummed, she had crossed her legs over each other, one now teasingly running up and down the side of Tracer's shin. "Actually, I have to concur with Dirk here."

Tracer's mouth fell open for a moment as she looked back and forth between the barkeeper and her girlfriend.

_Is she serious? That smile..._

"Ok, ok, I will definitely ask you to marry me when the time is right, ok?" Lena threw her hands up in defeat. Not because she didn't want to marry Amélie one day, but because Dirk forced her to say it now, ruining the eventual surprise.

"Oh, I actually meant the part of me being way out of your league" Amélie winked "But good to know" she said and slipped off her chair, excusing herself, saying she would need to touch up her make-up.

Dirk laughed heartily, watching the drop dead gorgeous woman Lena had somehow convinced to be her girlfriend walk away toward the ladies' rooms. Lena just let her head sink onto the counter. "I hate you, Dirk" she muttered.

"Really?"

"No."

Lena lifted her head off the counter again and started to tell Dirk a little more about Amélie, how they got to know each other and how they got together. Of course, she had to leave out a lot of details and sometimes outright lie, but she kept it simple enough to be considered a general story of how they got together. That was until someone slipped onto the bar-stool Amélie had been occupying.

"Lena?" a soft female voice asked. One that Tracer knew all too well. She turned left, praying to all the gods and their mums to listen to her and make it so this was not who she thought it was.

The bright red hair told her otherwise. The gods weren't listening. And neither were their mums.

"Emily." Lena's voice was icy at best. If she had never seen that woman again, it would have been too soon. In fact, she didn't want to see her so much, that she had forced herself to forget that Emily ever existed. Lena never considered her when she thought about her ex-girlfriends, she never considered her when she thought about the women she had slept with. To her, Emily simply never existed in the first place. She just wanted to forget that Emily had ever been a part of her life. With good reason.

"I thought I would find you here." Emily replied warmly, letting her eyes run over Lena once, taking in her outfit. The skintight black jeans she wore had some artificial holes in it and she wore a sleeveless grey top, showing a decent amount of cleavage. Simply because Amélie liked it. She also wore a small brown leather bracelet. "How have you been? You look good." Emily said, adjusting her posture on the barstool, trying to look flirty. It probably would have worked on most people. But not on Tracer.

"Mhm." Lena murmured, not gracing the redhead with a more detailed answer. Instead she reached for her whisky and took a big swig. At the back of her head a little voice, which curiously sounded an awful lot like Widowmaker, whispered that she should simply grab Emily by her neck and smash her head against the counter. Repeatedly. Really, she had the sudden urge to get rat arsed tonight, while she pondered if she would or should suddenly forget how to move off her chair, should Amélie come back and  _actually_ decide to turn Emily into red gooey pulp. She had to actually smirk a little at the thought.

Unfortunately, a certain redhead mistook that small smirk as a sign that Lena was simply playing hard to get.

She wasn't.

Emily reached out for Lena's hand, but it was quickly pulled away. Hesitating for a moment, the redhead decided to go on. "Listen, I wanted to talk to you."

"What makes you think I would want to talk to you, eh? I'd rather you'd just piss off." Lena spat and Emily looked hurt for a moment, but quickly composed herself.

"Alright, you have every right to be angry at me. What I did was wrong, and I-"

"Oh, what you did was wrong? Really now?" Sarcasm in its purest form left Lena's mouth. Some might have argued that Tracer wasn't capable of something like a snarl, but oh boy she was. "And what exactly do you mean? The part where you fed me lies about how your parents kicked you out because you're gay and how you struggled to maintain a living? Or the part where you kept asking me out on dates, not because you liked me, but only so you could get close to your  _target_? Or the part where pretended to love me, even though you felt  _nothing_ for me? The part where you pretended to want a family with me? Vulnerable little Emily, so alone, so misunderstood. God, and I  _believed_  you, while you fed me all the bullshit I wanted to hear so badly! I even introduced you to Winston, and we celebrated Christmas together!"

Lena hissed through her teeth, the pain she had felt when all that happened had turned into anger, before it dissolved into nothing a long time ago. Right now, she was back at the 'angry' stage. Curiously, she was angrier about her ruined evening than she was about the pain Emily had caused her years ago.

She leaned forward toward Emily after taking another swig of her whisky. "Or was it maybe more the part where you finally had everything you needed and got to write that stupid article for your stupid magazine before you shot me down like I meant nothing to you? Was that it? Oh, right, of course I meant nothing to you. You had a  _boyfriend_  the entire time. I'm kinda confused what exactly you are referring to when you say you did  _something_  wrong."

Emily averted her gaze, deeply ashamed. It was all true. She had done all of that and getting it served to her like that felt anything but good. She had worked for a boulevard magazine, right after she got out of college. It was her luck that she even got the job in the first place, but Emily was absolutely set on making the most of it. She had always wanted to become a journalist, even when she was young and Emily was determined to make a name for herself. She was a career oriented woman with high ambitions. Being young and wanting to establish herself, she would have done anything to deliver a top story. So, she found out about Lena Oxton. Living in London. Being a lesbian. Emily created a persona that Tracer would find irresistible. One of the things Emily did even better than writing stories was acting. So, she acted her role around Tracer, used her charms and her knowledge about her target shamelessly, got to know Tracer, and pretended to fall in love with her. She took her sweet time, didn't rush all the small steps that lead to their relationship. She gave Tracer the feeling of being in control of it all, earned her trust and soon enough her heart. Emily slowly got to know Lena's friends, like Winston while she gathered all the material she needed.

It was all an act.

When Emily had all the material she needed was done with the research, she wrote a horrible article about the remnants of Overwatch. It went into great depth how their remaining agents were wrecks, how Lena was too stupid to realize that the days of Overwatch were long over and that it would have been a better idea to shut the organization down much, much sooner.

She ended the relationship with Lena on the same day she handed in her article. Told her she never loved her, never had feelings for her and never wanted a family. Told her she had been useful for her. At least for a while.

It broke Lena's heart and in that moment, Emily didn't care.

"All of that." Emily said carefully. "I'm sorry, Lena. I came to apologize to you. What I did was wrong and horrible and I was such an ass."

"Oh really? Took you long enough to realize that."

"I..." Emily faltered. "I want you back." She said. Lena blinked. Once. Twice. She had heard that correctly, hadn't she?

" _WHAT?!_ " Lena shrieked.

"I'm serious about this, Lena. Really. I had a lot of time to think and I realized that I didn't lie with everything I said. I... like you ok? For real. I mean, I... I hate what I did to you. Even resigned from my job and all. Broke up with my boyfriend shortly after I left you. I... just give me another chance, please? I can make you happy if you let me."

"Oh, like you did last time? What do you want this time, Emily? Another story? Or just a new kick? Quick shag, mh?"

"I just want you back." Emily replied sadly.

Lena was about to yell the loudest  _I don't fucking give a shit_  the bar ever heard, when a third person stepped up to them. One Lena didn't mind seeing one bit.

"What is going on here?" Widowmaker asked, her sensual French accent prominent, yet the words still sharp as razors.

"Excuse me? I'm talk-" Emily was cut off by Widow, who graciously slid onto Lena's lap, wrapped her arms around her and kissed her scandalously with lots of open tongue and quite obviously just to show off.

"Seeing as you are talking to my woman, you are excused." Widow glared daggers at the redhead, who swallowed heavily, but didn't move. " _Now_  would be a good time." Amélie hissed, nodding toward the door. There was so much edge in her voice that is was almost physically painful to hear it cut into the redhead.

"You know Emily, the nerve you have that you even considered showing up here, thinking I hadn't found someone else. If I had been forcibly married to Doomfist, I wouldn't leave him for  _you._  I don't want to ever see you again." Lena spat.

"B-But..." Emily stuttered.

"The lady said you should go. Now. Or I will walk you out the door... and around the corner,  _compris, patate?_ " Amélie said slowly.

Emily blinked once, before she realized that the other woman was probably close to committing a very cruel, very public murder, if her facial expression was any indicator. How anybody could look so murderous without yelling was beyond her. What wasn't beyond her, was that now was a good time to slide off the bar stool and vacant the pub in a timely manner. So, Emily grabbed her small purse and quickly scurried off with her tail between her legs.

A victorious smirk played with Widow's lips while she slipped off Lena's lap and onto her own chair "who was that?" she wanted to know, reaching for her glass of wine.

"A horrible person, a liar, a cheater and someone who hurt me very much in the past." Lena sighed. "Don't worry, I completely removed her from my memory. It's all good."

"Really?" Widow inquired, noticing that her girlfriend wasn't at all comfortable.

"Yeah..." Lena sighed "I hate her but what I hate even more is the fact that she just ruined our perfectly good evening."

"It's not ruined,  _chérie._ " Widow smiled gently. "I can make sure of that, if you let me. You won't even remember your name anymore" she purred that last part with special seductiveness, winking very suggestively and smiling over her glass of wine.

Lena couldn't help but giggle a little. "You're such a horndog!"

"Made you laugh." Widow smiled, as she set the glass aside and moved her chair closer to Lena. "You want to go home and let me show you that I would never lie nor cheat nor hurt you?" she hummed into Lena's hear, letting her hand run up her lover's thigh, her finger's brushing over her gently, but firmly enough to stress a certain urgency and need. Amélie made an effort to sound teasing and flirty, but Lena didn't miss the serious overtone, the pleading look in her beautiful girlfriend's eyes. Like she really wanted to make sure that Tracer knew those things; like she was worried it could be different. Before Lena could say something, however, Widow went on. "Except the horrible person part. I can't promise that. But you decided on the bad girl. Not my fault." She said with a careless shrug and a smirk.

"Don't say that!" Lena couldn't help but laugh now.

"Oh, why not?" Widow kept her devilish smirk on her lips.

"It's not true." Lena replied, shaking her head because on the one hand it was silly and funny, but on the other hand she was perfectly serious about it, too. Then again, Widow was teasing her.

"Mhh, well." Amélie hummed as she looked at Lena with a predatory expression in her eyes. "So what do you say? Let's go home? Maybe we can still save our evening?" Amélie's expression didn't change at all, she was already undressing Lena with her eyes, which were screaming ' _I want you. Now.'_  Lena didn't miss that at all. And she liked it.

"Let's." Lena nodded and slid off her barstool, reaching for Amélie's hand and pulling the taller woman behind her. "Put it on my tab, Dirk, thank you!" she called as they left the pub.

-/-

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Well ladies and gentleman, that's it for today. I yet again had to split the chapter in two, because 15k words are just too long for a single chapter, I think. Also, there are some small things I want to change in the other chapter, so this way I can give you all what you just read while I fine-tune the rest. I don't want to keep you waiting for too long.
> 
> The beta-reading to this chapter was done yet again by Jfb715. Thanks a lot mate! You rock!
> 
> I also wanted to say a huge thank you to all of you out there reviewing or adding favs. I really appreciate it :3 I really do, you lot probably don't have the faintest idea how much it means to me. It genuinely makes me happy.  
> Again, if you want to leave a tip, this is the place:  
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction
> 
> Soooo...
> 
> "Patate, what are you doing here again?"
> 
> -Uhhmm
> 
> "You're supposed to work for that project of yours! Did you do that?"
> 
> -Amélie, listen...
> 
> "Non. You listen. This is the third professor this semester you have, because the other ones had accidents. This one will not have an accident as well, just because you were too lazy to do the project. Compris?"
> 
> -When did you become the boss in my house?
> 
> "Since you stopped taking care of yourself. Have you eaten yet?"
> 
> -ehm...
> 
> "Angela will kill you before I do, I swear..."
> 
> Well... I gotta go... see ya all in the next chapter :D I hope you enjoyed this episode of Addictions. Oh yeah, before I forget it. Someone pointed out that the problems are always solved rather fast. That's for two reasons: First, smaller problems are solved faster and personal problems are also usually solved within the course of a chapter simply because I don't want to and at this point cannot dedicate more chapters on someone's inner workings. I really want to get forward with this story with the actual plot. I really want to finish this before I'm not able to anymore.
> 
> I'll stop rambling. You'll get the next chapter before Christmas, promised. Then I will take a small vacation and time for myself.
> 
> o7
> 
> E82
> 
> -/-
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Formidable = (French) Great


	38. Leaving London

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to support the story, you can do so here:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction

_Tick_

_Tock._

_Tick._

_Tock._

When their evening started, Mercy hadn't planned on the ticking noise of the clock in her hotel room being the only sound filling the air. Yet it was. Her evening hadn't been going how she expected it. Not at all. By now she was supposed to be shooed through the sheets by some handsome guy. Naked. Getting her smart brains screwed out.

At least that had been the plan for tonight.

She and Pharah would go to a lovely, cozy bar, Pharah would probably enjoy a pint of beer while Mercy would opt for a glass of red wine. They would enjoy themselves, have a good time and Angela would try and pick someone up for the rest of the night and have some long needed fun. Couldn't be so difficult, Mercy was a tall, fit, blue eyed blonde with the right kind of curves in all the right places after all.

As it usually is with plans, this one didn't survive hard contact either. Not even a moment. It shattered the second Mercy opened the door of her hotel room after someone knocked twice. Pharah was standing outside, wearing a tight fitting suit while leaning against the doorframe. The collar of her white shirt overlapped with the one of her blazer and the top few buttons were undone, giving Fareeha ample cleavage. Her delicious caramel tone skin was such a lovely contrast to the white shirt and fit perfectly to the small golden necklace she was wearing.

They walked to the bar, arms linked because no matter how much Fareeha looked like she took the lead, she was still not able to walk on her own. However, that didn't show at all. Tonight, the usually tight lipped and sometimes slightly awkward warrior was oozing nothing but sheer confidence.

They sat down in a quiet corner of the bar, enjoyed their drinks and Angela listened to Fareeha telling tales of her times at the military and later at Helix Security. How she handled the incident at Giza, when another God-Program went rouge. Fareeha's eyes were sparkling with life when she told Mercy about her life. The dark brown orbs were almost glowing and the smile she wore was one of the brightest and most honest ones Angela had ever seen.

The initial intention of finding someone to have fun with was all but forgotten. In fact, Angela didn't even notice when the other guests started clearing out and they were kindly informed that the bar would close soon. She was so enthralled by the woman accompanying her.

Angela soon noticed that she didn't want to leave the bar, but had to. The short walk back to the hotel was spent in comfortable silence and when they were standing on the hallway in between their rooms, Angela couldn't help but realize that she didn't want to be alone in her room now. For a second Fareeha looked at her with an unreadable expression, and she seemed like there was something she wanted to say, before she looked away instead. The moment had passed and Angela uttered a silent good night, thanking Pharah for the wonderful evening before she quickly slipped into her room.

And now?

Mercy was lying in her bed. Alone and utterly confused what that evening was supposed to tell her. What did it mean? Did it even mean anything or was she just utterly over thinking again? Why was it that she found herself drawn to Pharah so much all of a sudden? She had known her for years, ever since Fareeha was a small girl. But she had lost everything of the shy but oddly curious young girl from once. She had grown up so much. Tall, muscular, serious and yet capable of being silly. And Fareeha was very reliable. All features Mercy definitely considered attractive. That must have meant it's not completely illogical to feel attraction toward her, was it? But was it really attraction? One thing was certain, it surely was no professional care. Angela had taken care of patients enough in the past, and no one had ever provoked that kind of feeling in her.

Dear god, what was happening?  _What am I doing?_

Pharah was a friend. A comrade. A patient. She was considerably younger. She was a woman and...

Angela wasn't into girls. She never had been.

A fact she had stated over and over and over again. On a million different occasions at a million different times and just as many varying situations, in front of anyone and everyone, whenever the topic came up. Which usually was Tracer's fault. And it was the truth. She had never felt attracted to girls.

But... If Angela was completely honest, neither had she toward guys. Sure, there had been meaningless flirts and hookups, but those were just that. Meaningless. During her time at university she could count the numbers of her lovers on a lumberjack's missing hand, because there were none. And after that? Not a lot better, at least not before Lena burst into her life. The truth was, Angela was married to her work and simply didn't entertain the notion of a healthy relationship or even family.

There had always been something more important to do, another test, another patient, another experiment, another simulation. Besides, it wasn't like she'd ever run out of time with the nanoprobes keeping her alive and well forever. There would be time for private life later. Which didn't mean she was lonely, just that her partners usually couldn't keep up with Angela's busy schedule and left quickly. Not that she minded.

What changed?

Did something change at all? Or was it just a momentary phase, something that would pass again? Maybe it was just because she saw how happy Lena and Amélie were together which made her subconsciously jealous? She had never known any of Lena's serious girlfriends. During the whole Emily incident, she was in Africa and hadn't known about Emily until it was already over again. So, Widowmaker was the first of Lena's girlfriends Angela got to know. Maybe it would only take her some getting used to those two being in a relationship until she'd be back to her normal self?

Yeah right. Who was she trying to fool here?

With a very unladylike groan Angela rubbed over her face, staring into the darkness of her room. Maybe she should get up and go to Fareeha's room and-

No.

That was a stupid idea and more likely than not simply the wine talking out of her. She was a mature woman and she would not force herself on Fareeha, her patient, like that. It wouldn't be right to intrude on the other woman's privacy in such an undignified, unprofessional manner. Besides, she was surely fast asleep by now.

Mercy decided she'd talk to Lena about all this someday soon. She needed someone to talk to and despite her weekly sessions with Dr. Laguardia, she was relatively sure this was a matter she'd rather discuss with her best friend. Contrary to what people might believe, Lena always gave very useful advice when it really mattered. Despite being goofy and silly sometimes, she was very much capable of understanding when Mercy needed her to be serious.

In that moment, Angela's phone, placed on the nightstand, buzzed. Reaching for the small device, she had to blink a couple of times, blinded by the sudden bright light of the display. The message was short, but clear.

_Are you asleep?_

It was from Fareeha. Before Angela could think what on earth she was doing, she had already typed a reply.

_No. Come over and chat?_

Mercy couldn't believe that she had actually just sent this. She couldn't believe that she had actually acted before she thought about the implications. She never did this. God what was wrong with her these days?!

-/-

* * *

 

In the room directly opposite to Angela's, Fareeha was feeling like a little schoolgirl who had just gotten her first love letter. She laughed happily as she slammed her arms and legs into the mattress repeatedly, just to put that sudden wave of infinite happiness  _somewhere._  That was too good to be true!

She quickly threw the blankets off and sat up in her bed. The lamp on her nightstand more than enough to light up the room well enough. Careful so she wouldn't stumble, Pharah used the pastel colored wall to support herself. On her way to the door she opened the mini-bar located in the wardrobe and took a bottle of red wine from it, before she grabbed her room's white key-card and shoved it into her bra. She knew that most women hated wearing their bra. Fareeha didn't. It gave her an odd sense of safety, so she liked to keep hers on most of the time.

It was the middle of the night and most people would be deep asleep by now, so the injured soldier didn't bother with more decent clothes. She kept her scandalously skimpy but impossibly comfortable shorts on and made her way to Angela's room. It was literally two steps away from hers and she could already knock. No one would see and they were both girls. Also, Fareeha might have had  _some_ ulterior motives, which she didn't admit to herself.

The door was immediately pulled open and Fareeha had to gulp, reminding herself to say something and not just stand in the brightly lit hallway with its soft red carpeting and gawk awkwardly.

Angela was wearing a white night gown. Most likely made from exquisite silk. But it was... see-through. And Mercy apparently  _didn't_ share Fareeha's fondness for bras.  _Is the doctor maybe cold?_

Angela wouldn't have noticed Pharah staring if someone had drawn a line along her line of sight. Her eyes were glued to the other woman's incredibly toned abs.  _Those. Abs._ She swallowed.

"I... uhm... brought some wine. Maybe we can share?" Fareeha offered, trying her best to hide her sudden insecurity.

" _Gerne!_ " Mercy beamed. "Come in. I'll get some glasses for us."

Soon they were sitting on the bed, each drinking wine from a tooth glass taken from the bathroom, giggling like schoolgirls. The same small lamp on the nightstand which was illuminating light in Fareeha's room was doing the same job now and was all that provided a warm but comfortably dim light.

-/-

* * *

 

A faint pounding noise caused Amélie to open her eyes. She didn't want to wake up, yet alone get up, but the banging of something against wood was getting more and more annoying. After blinking the sleep away, she quickly realized that someone had to be at the door. Who was that bothering them at this hour? She leaned over to catch a glimpse on the nightstand without moving too much. There was a digital clock there.

08:23

Who knocks on the door at this hour like their survival depended on it?

A tired groan got Widow's attention, Lena moved in her arms, rubbing over her eyes with the back of her hands while snuggling closer to Amélie's naked body. Her chronal accelerator was sitting on a chair next to the bed. With the new version Winston made, Lena just needed to be in the close proximity of the device. Like in the same room. It made things a lot easier for them without Winston knowing.

"...loud..." Lena mumbled, pulling at the blanket and sticking her head out. Tracer's hair was the usual morning mess. Amélie smiled gently and kissed her girlfriend softly on her head.

"Sleep. I'll get the door." She whispered softly, carefully disentangling herself from Lena's embrace and slipping out of bed. On the way to the door she lazily slipped on her coat from the day before and opened the door.

" _C'est quoi ton problème, connard?!_ " she snarled with a venomous bite in her voice. The angry glare in her eyes quickly vanished when she faced Mercy and Pharah, the former sporting a slight blush on her cheeks and the latter turning away awkwardly.

"Amélie, you might want to actually close your coat..." Mercy said carefully, causing Widow to look down on herself. She had just pulled the coat around her and it quickly came loose when she yanked the door open. Now it was hanging off her shoulders, not hiding much.

"Nothing you haven't seen before" Widow shrugged, but closed her coat around her otherwise naked body. "Now, what is so important that you had to knock for a solid 10 minutes?"

"I've been trying to call you, Headquarters told us that vacation is over. Can we come in?" Angela said, obviously not willing to talk about anything more specific in the stairwell.

Amélie looked back and forth between Fareeha and Mercy, apparently thinking for a moment. It wasn't her apartment after all. "I guess so?" she half stated, half asked and stepped aside to let her friend and the patient she at least didn't hate in. "Lena! Angela is here." She called, heading to the bedroom, not bothering with offering Mercy a seat or something.

Pharah looked around in the comfortable place Lena owned. It actually had a lot of charm and mirrored the character of its owner perfectly. It was a little messy, but also really cute and hospitable. It was easy to feel welcome and at home in this place. She decided to ignore the trail of discarded clothes leading toward the bedroom. Clothes that obviously were not from Tracer alone.

"Am I the only one who did not exactly expect Widowmaker to open the door?" Fareeha asked Mercy.

"We dropped her off here yesterday. She had to sleep somewhere,  _oder nicht?_ " Angela replied neutrally.

"Yes. Somewhere. Angela, you did realize that she was naked, right?" Fareeha asked and Mercy turned around to say something, but didn't get to do it. Tracer walked down the corridor, wearing a white blouse which was way too large for her.

Widow was storming out of the bedroom with her arms held forward, as if she was trying to stop Lena from leaving the bedroom, but it was already too late.

"Morning," Lena mumbled, walking past Pharah and Mercy and heading toward the kitchen. Widowmaker's arms fell to her side and she let out a deep sigh.

"Someone want a coffee? Angela? Blueberry?" Tracer's voice could be heard out of the kitchen together with the sound of cups rattling and water being poured. A coffee-machine started running and suddenly Lena's head appeared out of the kitchen door. "Wait a second. Pharah? What are you doing-" she looked at Widowmaker, who glared at her girlfriend, for two reasons. One being the nickname she just used in front of  _two_ strangers, the other was that she had been wearing her white blouse and nothing else. Angela just looked back and forth between Widowmaker, Tracer and Pharah, while the latter couldn't help but stare with her mouth hanging open.

"Close your mouth it's ugly" Widow said, as she walked past Pharah, obviously intent on having a word with Lena.

She didn't do mornings well.

Not at all.

A smirk appeared on Angela's face. " _Blueberry?_ " she repeated with a cheeky grin, cocking her head. She only got a groan as a reply, followed by some intense French cursing.

* * *

 

-/-

**Russia, St. Petersburg, Volskaya Industries, 1423 hours**

Katya Volskaya was sitting in a meeting with her board of directors, discussing a multitude of urgent matters concerning the company, its profits, its problems, the employees, future plans and many, many other different numbers and graphs.

Lady Volskaya was absent mindedly rolling a pen in between her fingers, a few sheets of paper sprawled out in front of her on the large glass desk where all the members of her board were seated. Her eyes were fixed to the holographic projection on the other end of the table, where a young man in a white lab coat was presenting a new technology which could help them reduce their energy demand by almost fifty percent.

Which meant they would save also fifty percent of their energy costs. Which would save them some  _serious_ money.

So, Katya listened. The man was nervous, she could tell, but he was also highly competent, which she also could tell. He was just starting to explain the exact workings of his improvements when her phone started vibrating. Luckily none of the board members noticed, Katya hated interruptions and it would have been embarrassing if she would have been the cause for one. The tough Russian businesswoman picked the phone up and looked at the screen, not recognizing the caller ID. She muted the device and placed it back on the table.

A few moments later the device demanded attention again, and again the caller was shut up, this time with an annoyed frown on Katya's stern features. She adjusted her position in her seat, making sure that her outfit consisting of a white lady's suit, black stockings with heels, as well as two sliver earrings was still Immaculate. Which of course it was. She returned her attention back to the ongoing presentation, happy to notice that she was still easily able to keep up.

The phone buzzed a  _third_ freaking time, this time only once.

Katya reached out and placed her hand on the device. Did she really want to distract herself a third time? Did she? She had a bad feeling when she turned her phone on and looked at the screen.

A mistake.

All color drained from her face and the otherwise ever composed Lady Volskaya let the phone drop out of her hand and onto the glass table. The noise was like thunder in the meeting room, all heads turned toward her.

"Director Volskaya? Are you feeling unwell?" a gaunt elderly man with huge glasses and lanky, bony fingers asked, his voice was croaky and rough. He had been smoking for decades it seemed.

Katya didn't react. She just stared at her now empty hand, like the phone was still there. She could still see the text message there.

_You look radiant in that white outfit, amiga._

_I'm hurt you don't answer my calls, but you're busy. It's fine. You can make it up to me tonight, 21:00 at the Helios club. I have a private room for us :P_

_It's a date?_

"Miss Volskaya?"

"Are you alright, Director?"

She stood from her chair, grabbed her phone and rushed toward the door."Excuse me, gentlemen. We need to pick this up another time."

She had a call to make.

* * *

 

-/-

**France, unknown time, unknown place**

Thiery Savant was standing next to a chess board, heavy white stone pieces, way larger than they usually are, were standing on their appropriate positions. Except for a knight, which had jumped over the pawn in front of it and into the field.

The other pieces weren't made from the same exquisite stone. They were holographic and not yet moved. Placed around him were a multitude of screens and displays with some operators placed in chairs in front of them.

The game of chess helped him keep his calm.

Because the bigger game had begun and there was no turning back anymore. It was a lot like chess after all. Moving pieces. Calculating the opponents moves and adjusting his own. It all was a matter of strategy.

"Thiery!" a man in a navy blue suit and golden tie called out to him, walking over to where Savant was eyeing the chess board carefully.

"Abraxas." Savant nodded at the blonde man who carried a light brown leather suitcase with him, the surface soft and smooth. "What do you have for me?"

"I am afraid that I'm the bringer of bad news. I contacted Director Volskaya like you wanted me to. I offered her everything we agreed upon, but, as I told you it would happen, she didn't reach out to us."

Savant stared at the other man for a moment, before turning his attention to the chess board. Black had moved a piece by now and Savant was stroking his chin. His skin was pale with very faint scars running over the edges of every corner of his face. They would soon disappear.

"I see," Savant replied after a long moment of silence, Abraxas Schrodinger only looked at his boss incredulously.

"That's it?" he asked. "What about your suspicion that-" Savant rose a hand

"You will come up with the according paperwork which indicates that Volskaya agreed to our deal. Make sure it appears on Gerda's desk. She will forward it accordingly."

-/-

* * *

 

**Watchpoint Gibraltar, the same day, 1704 hours, hangar 2**

The sounds of the dying engines were still echoing inside the hangar halls and the footsteps of the many people running around going about their jobs were creating a constant background noise when four people disembarked from the freshly landed Orca. A pneumatic valve opened somewhere on the shuttle and a cloud of steam hissed onto the ground while the four passengers stepped on the loading ramp.

Mercy was rubbing her stinging cheek. "That was unnecessary." She pouted and looked over at Amélie, who wasn't even thinking about making eye contact. In fact, she turned away further with an arrogant snort.

"I told you I would slap you if you called me  _that_ again." She hissed. "You were warned. But you still used it."

"But it's such a cute nickname" Angela countered.

"And it's not yours to use." Widow insisted, crossing her arms over her chest. It was almost like a little child who was about to stomp on the ground just to underline her stubbornness.

"Fine, fine." Angela couldn't help but giggle a little.

At the end of the ramp stood Commander Morrison, waiting impatiently. He was nervously tapping his foot to the ground, yet his face didn't betray any emotion, just as usual.

"Oi, boss, if you want me on vacation, you gotta actually give me some vacation and not just three days." Tracer called, but the easy smile she had on her lips quickly faded. "What's wrong?"

"Something urgent came up. Mission briefing is in five minutes at the command room. DVa and Zarya are already waiting for us." The Commander stated. "Come along, we are on a schedule." He said and pointed toward the exit door, waiting for Lena to exchange a quick glance with Widow. His best agent turned back to him after only a moment and left in the direction of the main exit, a confident swing in her hips.

Morrison was about to follow her, but didn't. Instead he turned back to face Pharah, who up until this moment hadn't said anything. She had watched the constant teasing between Lena, Widowmaker and Angela with interest while they were in transit back from London, but didn't speak up. She felt like she could learn a lot more by simply watching them go back and forth. It was obvious that Lena and Amélie were in a relationship of some sort. However serious that relationship was, Pharah did not know and it didn't matter. What mattered was, that Mercy obviously knew about this for some time and that she encouraged it. The way Amélie acted around the doctor also made it safe to say that the former Talon assassin was rather comfortable around Angela.  _Interesting._ Fareeha thought.  _I might have to talk to someone soon._

She noticed Morrison's pointed stare in the corner of her eye and snapped out of her daydreaming.

"Commander?" she asked with a slight blush of shame on her dark skin.

"How are you feeling, Ms. Amari?" the Commander asked with a level voice, ignoring her embarrassing zoning-out.

"I'm getting better, Sir." She replied sharply.

"Good. I expect you back in operational duty asap." He said with a curt nod, before he also turned and left the same way Tracer did.

"Yes, Sir" Pharah replied. It wasn't like that was exactly what she wanted to do herself.

Everyone missed how Widowmaker had narrowed her eyes and glared at the commander. No one noticed the ever so faint movement of his hand which indicated  _later,_ either.

-/-

* * *

 

**Half an hour after the briefing**

" _Unni_ , why did you agree to take  _that woman_ with us?" Hana asked, frustration written all over her face as she packed her stuff into a small storage container inside the very same Orca shuttle they used to travel from London to the Watchpoint. "She is only going to cause trouble!"

"Hana, we have orders." Tracer groaned, also packing her kit into a container "And she will not."

"But she is  _evil._  Just look at those eyes of hers. She glares at people all the time!" Hana continued, not noticing that Amélie had actually walked up to them. The assassin stuck her hips out teasingly while spinning a knife in her hand like it was a pen, not a dangerously sharp blade. She did so with such impressive precision, it would have seemed like a safe assumption that Widowmaker hadn't been doing anything else in her life.

"Remind me, why exactly are we bringing a  _child_ for this?" Widow sneered, causing DVa to jump and spin around and glare at the other woman, bracing her hands against her hips in a pouty manner.

"Who are you calling a child?!" DVa cried angrily.

"You." Widowmaker stated coolly, her eyes, which had been lingering on Lena until now, snapped to Hana and the ex pro gamer felt herself swallow heavily. That woman was, after all, just as scary as she always thought. But Hana wouldn't back down. She never gave in, otherwise she would have never made it to the top. And she was always #1.

"I'm not a child!" she insisted "I'm a soldier! But I guess a murderer like you would never understand that!"

"Hana..." Lena said carefully, not liking where this conversation was heading at all.

"Oh, no, no. Let her talk her mind,  _oui?_ I want to hear that." Widow scoffed with a smirk, putting the knife away into a sheath strapped to her leg.

"I may be young, but I have everything it takes! I have proven myself in my country long before I joined Overwatch, ok? I am the best mech-pilot there is! I always get the job done and I do it honorably and for a just cause." Hana said with conviction. She truly believed what she said.

Widowmaker could barely muster a pitiful smile as she leaned forward. "You have what it takes?" she asked, her voice mocking, while she leaned closer to Hana. Lena could only stand by and watch in disbelieve. She should have stopped that. She should have told Widow to back down. But for some reason she couldn't.

"Tell me, child, have you ever killed?" Widowmaker whispered, starting to walk around the smaller girl like a tiger circling his prey. "And I'm not talking about an Omnic, sitting in your mech. Have you ever taken a life? A human life? Held someone in your arms as you slit their throat? Felt the warmth of their blood run down your body and ruin your clothes? The rush? The excitement! You against them, and you came out on top? You just took a life, and it will never be again. It perished forever at your hands. Have you, mhhh?" Widow hummed, her voice way too sensual while she continued making her circles around the young soldier.

"Have you pulled the trigger of a gun aimed at someone's head? Have you seen their skulls explode at your doing? Have you done it? Felt it? Smelled it, the fear, the blood?" Widowmaker placed her hands on DVa's shoulders, causing the other woman to flinch, and Amélie to smirk. "Have you heard it? The last gasps they make, so desperately clinging to what's left of their life? Have you seen it? The begging expression in their face, full of hope, full of regret, which vanishes so quickly once they realize: There is no mercy for them. They will die. You fought. And you won. Have you felt the excitement of adrenaline in your veins once you realize it was either you, or them? And you came out on top? Have you, child?" Widow purred into DVa's ear, causing each and every hair in her neck to stand straight up.

Hana caught her breath, a silent squeal escaping over her pale lips. Somehow, she had a very clear picture in her mind with every word and every detail Widowmaker whispered, like she ushered the words straight into her soul. "N-No..." she breathed "I haven't." a part of her determination started to return to her. She would not continue to shake in fear, just because that  _woman_ was near her. Lena was still here, too, she had nothing to worry about. Hana was sure, that her  _unni_  was perfectly capable of besting the purple demon on her own, should it come to that. Besides, they were two versus one. "And I'm proud of that. I fight fairly and with honor. There is no need for killing like you do. I am a soldier, you are a murderer."

"Foolish child" Widowmaker hissed, and suddenly DVa felt a rough pull on her shoulders.

She felt the floor under her feet shift and before she even knew what was happening, Hana crashed to the hard metal floor with a painful  _ooompf,_ pushing all air out of her lungs _._  She usually took pride in her prized reflexes, but she had no chance to even realize what was going on. From one blink of an eye to the next, Widowmaker was on top of her, pinning Hana's arms under her knees, the hard bone digging painfully into her muscles. The knife Widowmaker had been playing with earlier was suddenly pressed to Hana's throat, hard enough to almost draw blood.

"Oy, Amélie!" Lena cried, but Widowmaker rose a hand to stop her. To DVa's absolute horror, it worked. Tracer didn't do anything.

"Tell me, did I fight fairly?" Widow hissed, her eyes fixed to Hana, who had the same expression on her face which she had described before.

"No!" DVa pressed out.

" _Non,_ indeed. And see where you are, and where I am. You perish. I live. Is there honor in this?" she asked before she made a dismissing  _tsk-_ noise. " _ridicule_. There is no honor in combat. Any soldier who saw war and lived will tell you. Don't believe me? Go to the plains of Stuttgart, to the Australian outback, or what's left of Korea's south coast and ask if honor mattered. You will find that the corpses of a million dead honorable soldiers cannot answer." Widowmaker snarled.

The sound of footsteps walking up to them got her attention and she turned her head away for a moment. A young corporal was standing in the shuttle, looking irritated.

"Uhm... Agen... Miss... Widowmaker?" he started carefully as Amélie looked at him and nodded. She got up from pinning Hana to the ground and put away the knife in one fluent motion. Hana continues to lay on the ground.

"You see, child, it's not about honor, or fairness. It's about staying alive. And nothing is too unfair, too dishonorable or too unjust for that goal. You either live. Or you die. Never forget that." Widowmaker said, before she turned to the man who had just arrived.

Lena just stood there and gawked. Nowhere in hell had she expected that there would be an actual lesson that Widowmaker would teach here. She was even more surprised to find herself agreeing to everything her girlfriend just said.

Widow nodded at the newcomer. "What do you want?" she asked.

The corporal handed her a clear red acrylic plate with an envelope encased inside "Your orders from Commander Morrison. You are to open them only after you are airborne."

"Understood." Widow replied curtly and the corporal nodded. For a moment he seemed to ponder if he should salute to her, but he seemed to decide against it. It wasn't like  _Widowmaker_ was his superior. And even if she was, he would have never respected her.

Turning around she found Lena helping DVa back to her feet.

"You know, she has a point with what she said, you know that, right?" Lena said gently.

"How can you say that,  _Unni?_ " Hana panted.

"Because it's true."

"But Reinhardt-"

"Is a genetically enhanced super soldier, living by a strict codex. His hammer weighs more than your mech does. And he swings that thing with one arm. Are you sure you want to compare yourself to him?"

"No..." Hana looked away.

"See. I know you don't like her, but Widowmaker has a lot of experience. You can learn a thing or two from her. She didn't survive for this long, because she made mistakes, you know?"

"Maybe. Still, I don't have to like her." Hana insisted and rushed off to the other end of the shuttle, where Zarya was busy storing her behemoth of a gun away.

Amélie and Lena exchanged a glance.

"Didn't know you had such potential to be a teacher." Lena giggled "Maybe I should suggest to Morrison that you train the next batch of elite sniper."

Widow snorted "I'd rather hang myself." She replied.

"So..." Lena started looking at Amélie expectedly.

"So... what?"

"You got extra orders? What's that about? I mean, I'm glad that Morrison decided to send you along for this mission and that he also decided to put you to active duty, but I'll admit I'm a bit curious. First you run off with him to god knows where, then he sends you out on missions with secret orders?"

"Who said they are secret?" Widow asked.

"They aren't?"

"Yeah, they are."

"See! My point. So, are you going to tell me or what? What's the big fuzz about all of a sudden?" Lena wanted to know and froze at the sight of her girlfriend. She was suddenly pale as a corpse and her eyes betrayed an emotional pain so intense that Lena had to look away. "Sorry." She muttered, quickly reaching out to squeeze Amélie's hand for a second. "I know I promised I wouldn't ask any questions. You can't talk about it, that's alright. Forget I said anything. I'm just an overly curious babblemouth, ignore me" she laughed.

"I wish I could tell you,  _chérie._ I really do." Amélie's voice was bitter and sour. She still heard the Commander in her head.  _You will tell no one about this. And I mean no one, not even Tracer. Especially not Tracer. She will tell Mercy and Mercy will put it in her records, because she is thorough and does everything by the book. Records can be read and we don't want that. Besides, I really can do without Angela talking my ears off because she disagrees with this. You will tell no one. Understood? Should you do, the deal is off._

Lena sighed. "I trust you. If you say you can't, you can't. I'm sure you have your reasons."

" _Merci_ "

"I love you, blueberry." Lena smiled "Now let's go and catch ourselves a hacker. Wonder what we'll do with her once we have her, but hey. Who knows what she might be good for. Condom concept, am I right?"

" _What?_ " Widowmaker frowned.

"Condom concept?" Lena laughed "Never heard that?"

"I'm not sure if I should have?" Widowmaker half asked, half stated carefully. She really wasn't certain if she wanted to know.

"Condom concept: Better have some and not  _need_  them, than need them and not  _have_  them." She laughed. "Same with Sombra. We don't know what we need her for, but hey, we'll have her around just in case."

"I fail to see when you would have ever needed condoms." Amélie remarked dryly in an attempt to tease her lover. Tracer however was completely unfazed as she replied.

"Prevents mud and water from running into your rifle's barrel" Lena shrugged like it was the most obvious application for the little rubber socks. "Also, it holds water just fine."

Widow blinked before she also shrugged "Fair enough." She said, following her girlfriend deeper into the Orca.

-/-

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> The condom joke was just. Bad. I know. But I will not apologize for it! Never! Yeah ok, sorry. It won't happen again, promised-
> 
> "Hey, can you take me to town, please?"
> 
> -Uh? Sure? Why?
> 
> "Well, I need something for Lena."
> 
> -Don't tell me you are starting to shop for Christmas presents now?
> 
> "Hush, I was busy."
> 
> -With what exactly, Amélie?
> 
> "The less you know, the better for you."
> 
> -Very reassuring Amélie. You know I can't keep you out of prison forever, yes?
> 
> "Oui, oui. Can we go now?"
> 
> Alright, I'll take that troublemaker to town so she can buy some presents
> 
> "I'm not a troublemaker!"
> 
> Oh, she is. Anyway. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it's my early Christmas present to you in a way, I guess? As I said, I will be taking a little vacation these days so it's definitely the last chapter for this year. I'll be seeing you all alive and well in 2018. Enjoy the holidays, spend time with your loved ones and family (should you love them) and have a great time.
> 
> Beta work yet again done by Jfb715! Thanks a lot mate, I greatly appreciate your effort!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Until next time my friends
> 
> o7
> 
> E82
> 
>  
> 
> -/-
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Gerne= (German) I'd love to.
> 
> C'est quoi ton problème, connard?! = (French) What's your problem, moron?


	39. From Russia with love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Before we get started this time, a short announcement:
> 
> There were some readers in the past, who asked me if I had patreon or accepted donations. Which I never did. I always did this because it was fun and loved doing it and never expected to get anything back other than feedback. Long story short, I got convinced by some readers that I should change that. The Joker was quoted, and I love that guy. "If you are good at something, never do it for free." Apparently I am kinda ok at what I do. So I was like... urgh, fine.  
> 
> So, for those of you who want to donate, I now have a tipeee site. The reason why I chose Tipeee and not something else is easy: Tipeee allows you to just make a single donation. Just once. No monthly contribution (which you can do, too, but don't have to.) And I think that is great.
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction
> 
> Sorry, I can't post a proper link here. Alternatively you can just head over to Tipeee and search for E82 and you will find me easily.
> 
> I just want to make one thing very clear: I don't want anyone to feel like they  have to donate. Because you don't, it's perfectly fine if you write a review instead and tell me what you think. But you know, if you feel like spending money on me and the stuff I write is what you want to do, then I greatly appreciate it. You know, fund my next coffee or something.
> 
> So, there you have it. Tipeee for those who want to. I'll be honest I'm not 100% comfortable with this, but hey, let's give it a try.
> 
> -/-

 

**Russia, St. Petersburg, 2132 hours.**

The thing about Russia at this time of the year was the temperature. It was freezing cold, each breath resulting in a small white cloud, like everyone was smoking. Yet, in comparison to the last time Tracer had been to Russia, this time didn't _feel_ as cold.

_Diskon_. _What an utter shithole_.

The temperatures back then were hardly tolerable, but if Lena was fair, she had to admit that she was affected by the much different circumstances back in Diskon. Mercy had been kidnapped, Lena hadn't slept in what felt like a week and she was worried sick for her girlfriend. Tracer wouldn't have felt warm if she had been in the middle of a desert at high noon.  

Now was a completely different scenario and a completely different team. Zarya was the only one who was both at Diskon and on this mission too. Her being Russian _might_ have had something to do with that decision. Lena would have taken Genji along, but the Ninja was currently somewhere in the East of China, securing some much needed supplies and Jesse... Well, McCree still wasn't on the best of terms with Widowmaker. Tracer preferred not having to deal with the two of them bickering all the time, she wouldn't have been able to keep her mouth shut. Instead Tracer decided to take Hana along. God knew the girl could use some more field experience outside her mech. She also needed some distraction, Lena figured, after the whole mess with Lucio's death.

So, they were four women now. Zarya, Widowmaker, DVa and Lena herself. A decent small team, Lena had no worries that they would be able to achieve their mission without a lot of problems. It wasn't like they were sent into a freaking war-zone. St. Petersburg was a nice, civilized city for the most part.

The Orca had dropped them off on a large unpopulated plaza in one of the less frequented, industrial districts. They had been walking from there, following Athena's GPS based directions in search of the Helios, a prestigious high class nightclub where Katya Volskaya told them they would meet. Sombra would be with her.

It had been a comfortable 10 minute walk from the drop zone to their preparation point just before their destination. During that small walk, they did see a lot of the beautiful Russian city during its most charming period: at night, with all the sparkling city lights making the white snow glow brightly. It was an interesting place, so beautiful, luxurious and extravagant on the one side, but on the other, if you looked closer, behind its modern, open-minded facade, it was also filled with crippling poverty and decay. Two worlds were basically co-existing next to each other, the one completely ignoring the other.

Their preparation point was a pavilion made from white stone. The slightly elevated position allowed a nice view over the Helios, but still far enough away to not be too obvious. The pavilion had been built next to the Fontanka, a scenic river, gently winding itself through the city of St. Petersburg. The street lamps of the walkways to both sides of the river cast a soft light onto the dark waters, the edges where the river met its stone confinement were partly frozen and covered with snow. The bone-chilling cold made the whole scenery weirdly silent, while everyone checked their gear, at least a little secluded from prying eyes by the pavilion's structure. Not that there were many people out for a walk in the nearby park at their side of the river.

Tracer looked forward to this mission, for she knew that this one would _finally_ be rather easy. Go in, say hello to miss Volskaya, grab Sombra, drag her back to the shuttle, fly home, done. Easy enough. At least, in theory.

Something in her guts told her that this was just wishful thinking. It was _never_ that easy.

She glanced over at her comrades and regarded them for a moment. Zarya was a towering rock amongst them, distributing extra magazines for their concealed guns. DVa was standing next to the weightlifter, zipping her pink –what other color did Tracer expect- coat with a white fur hood up all the way, obviously not very fond of the cold. She was holding the box with the extra magazines for Zarya. It was good to see that they were working together smoothly.

Widow was standing a little further away, her back facing to the group. She glanced over her shoulder for a moment, locking eyes with Tracer, who gave her a faint smile before Amélie turned away again.

The assassin, wearing her trademark skin tight catsuit under a black trench coat, lit herself a cigarette. The light of the flame briefly illuminated her face, making her golden eyes glow in an even eerier way more than they usually did. A stark contrast to the otherwise dark night. While she put the lighter away, she took a deep drag, sucking the thick smoke deeply into her lungs and kept it in for a long moment. She overlooked the river when someone tapped on her shoulder. It was Zarya, holding a magazine out to her. Resisting the momentary urge to blow the smoke into the weightlifter's face, Amélie instead turned her head to the side to empty her lungs. She held her hand out for Zarya to drop the magazine into.

" _Merci_ " Widow said plainly, turning back to the river once again while stowing the magazine in the shoulder holster she wore underneath her coat. She wouldn't have bothered with the coat, for she didn't even feel the cold, but Lena insisted. At least her argument had been solid enough. The catsuit alone would draw too much attention and the coat was excellent to allow for concealed weapon carry. _Getting better, chérie,_ Widow thought, taking another drag of her cigarette; the tip glowing in a bright orange light and the tobacco crackling faintly in the silence of the night. Her eyes were wandering over the river and found the nightclub not too far away. It was hard to miss, with all the colorful spotlights and sky-lasers meant for creating an interesting, unique location. How that would help the place be interesting or unique was beyond Widowmaker, and frankly enough, she didn't really care either. She was thinking about the upcoming task.

Find and capture Sombra, the mission objective was clear. At least for everyone else. But everyone else didn't get their own special assignments. Widowmaker was not so sure if she should feel excited or scared about the extra work Morrison gave her. A part of her was definitely excited, so excited that she felt the all too familiar rush of her cold blood and the anticipation itching in her bones. Yet, another part of her _hated_ it, both the fact that she had to admit that she was very much looking forward to what would come as well as the fact that she couldn't talk to anyone about it. Amélie knew that she was basically lying to Lena. But what other choice did she have? Amélie did this for Lena just as much as she did it for herself. She could only hope for Lena's forgiveness later on.

She took another drag from her cigarette, which had burned down to half its original length by now.

Not letting the smoke out of her lungs, she reached for a little piece of paper in the pocket of her coat. It was the note she had cracked out of the sealed red acrylic case which was given to her. Her orders from Morrison together with two only mildly varying letters. Ever since she had read what was written on the note and the letters, Widow had become quiet. She would do what was asked from her. No one liked traitors, especially those who betrayed someone for _Talon._ She exhaled, wondering how those letters were created in the first place and if there wouldn't be better ways to go about it. It didn't matter. This was better than nothing and she could work with it, no problem. Amélie only hoped that Lena would still look at her after today.

Folding the two letters and putting them back into her pocket, she held the paper with her orders in her hands. Fishing in her other pocket Amélie procured her silver lighter and ignited it with a flick of her wrist. Carefully holding the edge of the note into the flame Widowmaker held the piece of paper until her orders had caught fire. She felt the heat of the flames licking on her fingers, before she let the burning note fall over the ancient metal parapet of the pavilion. The handrail was meant to prevent people from stumbling into the river below, yet for some reason Widow didn't really trust it could do that anymore. The metal was rusty and old and it seemed like it would break apart if one were to lean against it. Widowmaker found herself smiling at the thought of someone breaking through the railing because they put too much weight against it. So, not particularly fancying an involuntary bath in ice water, she refrained from touching the parapet when she watched the burning note floating downward. A moment later Amélie heard the sizzling of the note falling into the ice water below and extinguishing itself.

“You ok?” Lena asked quietly as she walked up to her girlfriend, eyeing her carefully. She was tense and her face was void of all expressions. Tracer didn’t like that, it was not a sign of anything good going on inside of Amélie's head.

“Sure.” The assassin nodded. “Let’s get this over with, ok?”

"Amélie?" Lena whispered, reaching out to hold her lover on the hem of her coat's sleeve.

"It's nothing, _chérie._ "

"Is it because of your extra orders?" Lena asked, discreetly grasping her girlfriends hand into hers and squeezing it reassuringly.

"You won't like them." Widow stated simply, not finding it in herself to look at Lena.

"That's what orders are. I don't have to like them." Tracer laughed half heartedly. "Come on, let's get this over with, we'll be back home in no time." She said and winked at Amélie who forced a sad smile to her lips.

The team left the pavilion and crossed a bridge to the other side of the river before they were nearing the Helios.

The Helios club was nearby, at the riverside of the Fontanka. It was an imposing building, constructed in old roman style, obviously meant to reassemble some kind of temple. The building had countless tall pillars and a large dome in the middle of the main building. Two long, one story buildings were framing a park like area in front of the club, where the guests were waiting more or less patiently to be let in. The small plaza, already filled with guests, was lit with artificial spot-lights of various colors, some moving, some stationary.

The team came to a stop in front of the complex. Even though they still weren’t nearly inside yet, Lena could already hear the rhythm of the music playing on the dancefloors. The booming of deep basses and dark tunes, which touched a spot deep inside the soul, awaking a dark, forbidden passion. It wasn't Lena's kind of Music, and neither was it Amélie's, judging from the way she wrinkled her nose for but a moment.

“As discussed. Zarya and I will go inside. Hana and Widow, you will cover the back entrance” Tracer said and could have sworn that DVa was about to protest. "Make sure that Sombra doesn't escape. Keep a close eye on the back alley. If she'll run, she will most likely use that way." Lena added and exchanged a glance with Widowmaker.

“Come on then, child. We don’t want this to take longer than your bedtime allows you, right?” Amélie teased, patting Hana's head before she walked off in the direction of the backside of the club. Hana, being frozen for a second, opening and closing her mouth without a sound escaping, needed a moment to remember that she was supposed to follow that rude, mean insufferable assassin. Shaking her head, she turned and quickly hurried after Widowmaker.

In the meantime, Lena and Zarya headed for the main entrance, bypassing the long crowd of people waiting to be let in. Everyone wanted in, wanting nothing more than the chance of partying with the rich and famous, catching their own short glimpse of what glamour felt like, but only few were permitted.

While the two Overwatch-agents walked past the many waiting guests, they received some nasty glances and glares. Compared to the dolled and dressed up guests expecting to be granted access, Lena and Zarya definitely stood out. They were both wearing a plain coat over their regular combat gear, Zarya's was white, Lena's brown. Neither of them really cared for the mean stares, they were soldiers after all and luckily looks could not actually kill. They walked up to the bouncer at the front entrance, who was looking at them suspiciously. He was wearing a very cliché fur coat and sun glasses, even though it had been dark for hours. He didn't leave the impression that he would let them inside.

"What do you want. Wait in line like anyone else. Better yet, don't bother at all with that getup." He grumbled in Russian. A blond bimbo with pink high heels taller than a building and the fishnet stocking wrapped legs to match was giggling dumbly right behind them. Tracer only looked over her shoulder and smiled, letting Zarya do the talking.

"We are expected by Katya Volskaya." She replied easily. "Check your guest list, please. Makarov and Onatopp." Zarya stated the two names that Morrison had picked as an alias for them. He didn't know who he would send, so he made up two names for the guest-list.   

The bouncer took out a datapad from his coat and started typing the names into a search bar. After a few seconds, he nodded. "Of course. I apologize for stopping you, please enjoy your stay in the Helios."

"Thank you." Zarya said with a curt smile, while the bouncer opened the door letting her and Lena in. Tracer, in a fit of unparalleled maturity, stuck her tongue out to the blond bimbo, while she walked inside backwards.

The door closed behind them and Lena turned back around again, finding her way through a dark black and impossibly heavy curtain around the door. Once they were completely inside, the music was suddenly ten times louder and not at all pleasant. What _was_ pleasant were the waitresses running around. The club seemed to have some sort of ice-theme going on. The bar was made from huge blocks of ice, the barkeeper was only wearing a tight white shirt, showing off his well built body and the waitresses were... not exactly wearing a lot more either. White frilly lingerie for the most part. Which Lena thought was pretty nice. But enjoying themselves was no objective for this day. They were in. All they had to do now was find Katya Volskaya.

Meanwhile Widowmaker and DVa had a totally different objective to complete. At least if  lurking in the shadows and waiting for something to happen or the signal to retreat could be called completing an objective. It was still what they would do for the remainder of the evening. Best case scenario for: Sombra would just come with Lena and Zarya. Which was just as boring as it was unlikely, Widowmaker knew that. The worst case would be that Sombra tried to make a run for it and would have to be stopped. A part of Widow almost hoped that would happen, just so she could see some action again. In her mind, there was no doubt that they would catch the Mexican hacker. Sombra wouldn't get away. That would be the actual worst case scenario.

“Why am I stuck with _you_ of all people?” Hana complained more to herself than to Widow, kicking a small, apparently bothersome, stone down the dark, dirty alleyway behind the club. The other woman still heard her, though.

“Do you speak Russian?” she asked coolly, glancing over at DVa.  The former pro-gamer had to shake her head no. “See? Zarya does. And so do I. It’s a reasonable split." Widowmaker replied, pulling a leg up and pressing it to the cold wall she was leaning against. "Besides, you aren’t old enough to enter a club, are you?”

“I’m of legal age here!” DVa insisted angrily, stemming her hands to her hips and facing Widow.

“Maybe." Amélie shrugged pretending to not care. In truth, the little girl was getting on her nerves. "You’d still stand out.”

“Oh, and you wouldn’t or what?”

“Did you hear me complaining about not being somewhere else? No, you didn't. There is a reason I am watching the back entrance.” Widow snapped. Still, the reason might not have been what Amélie made her involuntary colleague believe. It was that she didn’t handle large numbers of people too well and tended to freak out whenever there were too many around her. A bloodbath in a Russian club was not on the to do list for now. At least not too much blood. Hana knew neither of those things and Widow would keep it this way.

Inside the Helios, Zarya and Tracer were slowly working their way through the crowded dance floor. Director Volskaya had a private room at the back. Yet, getting there proved to be much more complicated than initially presumed. It seemed like everyone with some money or influence in Russia had been stuffed onto the dance floor. Damn, how many people could one cramp into a single room? The flashing lights and lasers together with the booming music didn’t really help with the feeling of constant assault. Lena was glad that Amélie had no qualms about staying outside. She would have lost her mind in here and Tracer was surely not keen on cleaning up the mess a freaked out and armed Widowmaker could cause on a crowded dance floor. Hell, she wouldn't want to clean up the mess of an _unarmed_ Widow either. Her girlfriend would probably just use someone's glass as a weapon. Wouldn't be surprising. Lena saw her almost kill Dr. Laguardia with a pen _._ A. _Pen._ Meant for writing.

At least Zarya was pushing through the masses like a tank through a young forest and Lena quickly followed behind her before she was cut off. It took time to get to the other side, simply because the weightlifter didn’t want to kick people out of the way, but at least they were making progress.

Soon enough they found themselves in front of a passage in the wall. A huge man in a black suit and an earpiece for a walkie-talkie blocked the way, a red velvet cord denying access.

"She is expecting you" he grumbled in bad English, lifting the cord up for Zarya and Lena to slip into the small passage. The loud music subdued soon enough into barely more than a faint tune in the background. Something Tracer was actually rather glad about, the noise on the main floor had almost been too much for her to handle. She enjoyed loud music like anyone else, but at a point where she was able to feel the booming of the bass in her guts was simply too much for her. She didn't need her insides massaged, thank you very much.

The small passage lead into a room which reassembled a cave. The floor was made from glass, making the ground underneath it very much visible. Chippings of dark stone lay below the glass while multiple spotlights were shining through it, illuminating the rough stone walls. If those were actual stones or just made to look similar was not really distinguishable. It didn't matter either, the atmosphere was great, like someone created a small cave inside the club.

In contrast to the dark walls and the ground underneath the glass floor, a few very comfortable white leather couches were standing in the middle of the room, facing each other. A large glass table was in the center of the couches, a shiny metal bucket placed on top of it. There were thick drops of water running down the polished surface with some frozen spots on it. Ice inside the bucket was cooling down a green bottle of stupidly expensive champagne. Two glasses were standing on the table, too. One was almost empty, the other one seemed to be untouched, the sparkling yellow-ish liquid still filling the elegant crystal glass.

Tracer and Zarya exchanged a look which was saying more than a thousand words, and surely not because of the expensive champagne-flutes.

Sitting on one of the couches, facing the passage, was Katya Volskaya and she was _not_ looking comfortable at all. Her stiffness could be compared to an antique marble statue. The only thing which even managed to surpass the similarities in posture was her color, which was so pale it was almost white. The reason for her more than unhealthy color was most likely the one and only Sombra sitting lasciviously in her lap, a devilish smirk on her lips and obviously up to no good.

"Good evening luvs, someone here called the bizzy?" Tracer announced cheerfully and Sombra's head immediately shot up and faced the entrance. Her eyes were wide, darting back and forth between Zarya and Tracer. The surprise was written all over her features. "I take it then you _didn't_ call?" Lena smirked.

" _Mierda!_ " Sombra hissed and jumped off Katya's lap, looking about the room. "I should not have trusted you. I will-"

"What did you expect? Blackmailing me was a bad idea, Miss Colomar." Katya said calmly, reaching for the full champagne flute, only now allowing herself to indulge the pleasure of its taste. She had won and she knew it.

Sombra's eyes were as wide as saucers.

"Oh, I know who you are. Olivia Colomar. Lost your parents in the first Omnic war as many had. Became a skilled hacker. Joined a gang called Los Muertos and later Talon, before you went rogue. An interesting story, I'll admit, full of manipulation and social engineering. But I'm afraid, you picked a bad target for your little games." Katya smiled victoriously, sipping the yellow sparkling liquid. Her eyes followed Sombra who was growing increasingly uneasy with every passing moment.

"Damn you, _amiga._ " Sombra pressed out, running a nervous hand through her colored hair. "Damn. You don't understand, all I... _damn_ " Sombra started pacing up and down the room, almost like she was beginning to panic, with her hands shaking badly and her steps becoming insecure. She seemed like she was close to falling into a screaming fit, when she stopped in front of the two Overwatch agents. "Ah, you see... I'm sure there must be something we can do about this, right?" she said with badly forced calmness but trembling voice.

Zarya stepped a little closer to her, gazing down onto the smaller woman with a stern look on her face." _Da._ " she replied, crossing her muscular arms over her chest "You will come with us. Now."

The already crumbling facade on Sombra's face cracked visibly.

"Bad idea. Very bad idea." she sputtered, glancing over at Katya and taking a few steps toward her. "Why? Why did you do that?" she asked, not able to hide some desperation in her voice. If Katya Volskaya would have looked Sombra in the eyes in that moment, she could have told that the hacker was scared and alone in the world. But Katya didn't grace Sombra with so much as a single glance in her direction.

"You can't blackmail someone into friendship. Surely you must realize that. I would have never been your friend. No one will." She replied confidently, hoping that Overwatch would finally take Sombra away so that she could get back to her life and company.

For a brief moment, there was something like genuine hurt flashing across Sombra's features, but it was quickly gone. Still, Tracer didn't miss it and it made her wonder for a second.

"I only tried to make you see that... I just wanted to show you..." Olivia started, but trailed off, before slouching her shoulders, letting her head hang down. Her hair was hiding her face almost completely. "I would have never actually done anything against you..." Sombra admitted quietly, inhaling deeply and apparently composing herself. When she looked back up again, her face was replaced with a haughty smirk, almost like she had put on a perfect mask again, the cracks and holes in her facade were completely gone like it never happened. Like she never showed her true face for however short the moment had been. "Sorry ladies, but there is no place for me where you are going" she shrugged and suddenly, she was gone.

-/-

Outside, Widow and DVa were waiting patiently for something to happen. A couple of minutes ago a bouncer had mistaken them for dancers of the club. Widowmaker, speaking fluent Russian, made it _very_ clear, that they were no employees of the nightclub in any way. Not that she would have needed to speak Russian to make that point clear. The poor bloke would be limping for at least a few days after she was done with him. All Widow really used Russian for, was to spit threats about cutting his balls off and stuffing them down his throat should he ever dare to even look at her again. Her Asian companion could only stare while it happened, unable to intervene. It happened so fast, before Hana knew what was going on, it was already over again.

DVa had to admit that she truly had never seen anyone move remotely the way Widow did. All her actions were smoothly and with lightning speed flowing into each other. Like the rushing water in a mountain torrent forcing its unstoppable way through the rocks, entraining everything which got caught up in the violent waters. There was no trace of sluggishness or even a hint of imprecision, only a fast series of attacks before her adversary lay on the floor. Hana was left with no other choice but admit that Widowmaker was probably the only person in the world who both _could_ and _would_ make hurting people look absurdly elegant.

But apart from that small incident with the bouncer nothing happened and the two women were back to leaning against an old brick wall in the shadows of the nightclub. The street back here was old and filthy, small puddles of molten water formed on warmer spots, others were covered by snow. Still, that didn't mean that all the filth on the cracked and burst tarmac wasn't visible. Not surprising, considering that the garbage of the club was collected in containers of varying rustiness underneath a small metal roof right next to the street. There were also exactly 68 blue plastic bags with presumably even more garbage inside. Amélie knew it was that specific number because she had counted them. She was bored, but didn't want to talk to the annoying Asian kid either.

There was a loading bay underneath that metal roof, which was probably only rainproof because it was frozen over. By the looks of it, that loading bay hadn't been used in eons and probably maintained in the same regular intervals the roof has. Namely never. If that even was an interval. But, at least, inside the metal roll-gate of the bay there was a door, which served as the back entrance and actually _worked_. The unfortunate bouncer from before had come through it.

Widowmaker groaned. She wanted this to be over, wanted to be back home with Lena and her in the same bed, snuggling. She wanted to feel the warm body of her lover pressed against hers, her hands all over her body and her mouth kissing down her neck. She wanted-

" _Suspect on the run."_ Tracer's voice came over the radio and Amélie's eyes immediately snapped to the back entrance. _"Repeat, Sombra used a translocator. Keep your eyes open, I'm sure she is headed your way._ "

_Finally!_

Lena hadn't even completed talking yet, when Widowmaker had already moved next to the door of the back entrance. DVa was caught by complete surprise as the very same door suddenly swung open with a painfully loud creak and Sombra came rushing out. There wasn’t even three seconds between these events, it all happened so fast.

The hacker didn't get far before her face collided harshly with the heel of Widowmaker's boots as she slammed it into the hacker's face with an impressive spin.

Sombra, maintaining some of her momentum she gathered by running, flew down the loading bay ramp and crashed face first onto the dirty ground in front of it with a very distinctive, dull and entirely unpleasant sound. Hana came running toward Sombra, looking like she was in pain simply from watching. She noticed that Widowmaker up at the ramp seemed to be fresh out of fucks to give. _Figures,_ Hana thought, _she doesn't care at all. Psycho. Murderer_. She looked at the groaning Sombra on the ground and then glared up at Widow. A careless glance was all she got as a reply.

"Zip tie her. And don't let her out of your sights. If she escapes, you are responsible, child." Widowmaker told DVa with commanding voice, authority dripping from every word, like she had been doing little else in her life but leading secret operations and commanding soldiers. Which in a way was true. Back at Talon Widowmaker was, no matter of her status inside the organization, superior to the common soldier.

"Hey, where are you going?" DVa demanded, noticing that Widow had jumped down the landing bay and was about to head off into the dark alley behind the Helios.

"Elsewhere. Take care of the target." Widow replied, before pushing a finger to her ear. "We got her. Come back here, I'm sure the child needs some help with carrying."

" _Got it, we're on the way_ " Tracer's bodiless voice replied. Widow had already vanished into the back entrance.

DVa in the meantime was on top of Sombra, pulling the hacker's arms behind her back and tying them together with a cable fixer. The Latina made a groaning noise when Hana pulled her back up and leaned her against a dumpster where Sombra slumped down together.

"You ok?" DVa asked, crouching down in front of the captive. She kept a little distance, though. Just in case.

"My whole body hurts." Sombra groaned with a deep frown on her forehead. "That bitch is such a loony." She let her head sink against the dumpster and taking a look at the young Asian girl in front of her. Long brown hair framed her face which was decorated with pink war paint. Rather cute, if Sombra was honest. There was no way this girl was any threat to her. However, her hands were tied behind her back and her head was spinning like crazy. Still, the Asian didn't strike her as someone who would shoot her because of anything, so she relaxed a little. "I must have suffered some brain damage." She grunted ungracefully.

"Wait, what?" For a second there was concern written on DVa's face. She deeply regretted that the second Sombra began to chuckle throatily.

"I meant the crazy bitch. The crazy _dead_ bitch. I'm seeing things."

"Huh?" DVa asked, cocking her head, before she counted two and two together and realized what Sombra was referring to. Of course. The hacker had no way of knowing that Amélie Lacroix was very much alive. "You mean Widowmaker? She knocked you out."

"Impossible. The spider got blown up with that freighter back in Diskon eight months ago. She is dead." Sombra stated.

DVa snorted, rolling her eyes. "Morally, maybe. But, unfortunately, otherwise very much alive. But I wish you were right."

Sombra paused for a second, mustering her captor and felt her lips form a cheeky smile. She chuckled, shifting a little to make herself more comfortable. As comfortable as one could be leaning against a rusting dumpster.

"What's your name, _chica_?" the hacker asked.

"Why do you want to know?" Hana narrowed her eyes and Sombra couldn't help but grin even more.

"My, my. Aren't we suspicious? I don't want to call you _chica_ all the time." She paused dramatically, winking at Hana. "Unless you like that? _Chica..._ "

"Wha-" DVa's blush was too cute, it made Sombra smile softly and tilt her head ever so slightly. It was so easy getting the young Asian to react. Still, Sombra really wanted to know her name, not just tease her. Not that it wasn't fun to do that.

"Besides, I'm sure you know who I am, don't you? It would only be fair." Sombra shrugged, watching the other woman's reaction carefully. She seemed to hesitate, before sighing.

"Fine. My name is Song Hana. But everyone calls me DVa." Hana said, watching as Somba's devious smirk grew warm for a moment.

"That's a cute name, Hana. It's nice to meet you, I'd shake your hand, but..." Sombra laughed easily, apparently not at all bothered by her situation. She was so laidback and cool, it reminded Hana about Lúcio. The thought about him made her swallow and she forgot whatever reply was on her tongue, so Sombra continued.

"We're going to get along well, _amiga._ " she teased and smiled, but DVa only tried to glare at her. Well, at least as much as adorable Hana was able to glare. Her facial expression was rather endearing.

"I'm not your friend, Sombra. Ooh, I can't stand you hackers. You give those of us with skill a bad name." Hana said sharply, but didn't actually feel as hostile toward the Latina as she sounded. It was the bitterness speaking out of her.

Sombra chuckled again, but this time it felt almost faked. "You know that's not the kind of hacking I do, right?" she asked, her voice not as easygoing anymore. She was more serious all of a sudden, as if this point was important to her, but still, her smile stayed on her lips.

"Yeah right. Cheater. Liar." Hana snapped. She didn't know why, but DVa felt like she needed to defend herself. Her eyes locked with Sombra's in that moment and Hana could have sworn that the weird purple of the hacker's iris had just grown a shade darker.

"I am _not_ a liar. Nor am I a cheater." Sombra stated firmly, hurt flashing over her face. Her eyes burned into DVa's for a moment, before she looked away as if she was reminded of something which she couldn't stand thinking about. "I'd prove it..." she whispered.

DVa felt a pang of guilt grip her heart, she didn't mean to be mean. She opened her mouth to reply something, but was cut off by Zarya and Tracer approaching.

"Didn't get far, did you, Olivia Colomar?" Zarya said mockingly crossing her massive arms over her chest.

Sombra's head snapped up and every trace of the playful, smiling woman from before was all but vanished. " _¡Vete al infierno, pendejo_!" she hissed angrily, jerking forward as much as her restraints allowed her to.

"No one speaks your language" Zarya replied, grabbing Sombra by her shoulder and pulling her up with one hand, quickly she put her arm underneath Sombra's, which still was bound to her back, and placed her hand on her neck. "You move slow and in the direction I tell you to. One false move and I break your neck, clear?" just to prove her point Zarya squeezed Sombra's neck a little.

"Fuck you!" The hacker snarled angrily.

"You know Sombra, if I were you, I'd consider myself lucky that the commander wants us to bring you in for questioning." Lena said, joining the group.

"Ohh, and whatever does your commander want to know?" the hacker asked, tilting her head in a mocking manner.

"You'll see soon enough." Tracer replied sternly. She would not let herself be wound up by that woman. She would not take the bait.

"You don't know yourself, do you? _Tracer._ " Sombra smirked. "Doesn't that bother you?"

"Oh, I know that you will disappear into a very small, very dark cell and _that_ doesn't bother me at all." Lena returned and gestured Zarya to take Sombra away. She was reasonably proud that she got the last word.

DVa was sitting on an empty cardboard box, watching carefully. Her arms were wrapped around her slender body and she looked a little uncomfortable. Tracer walked over to her and leaned against an iron pillar next to the box.

"Where's Widow?" she asked and DVa merely shrugged. Frowning, Tracer pressed a finger to her ear "Widowmaker? Come in, where are you?"

" _Taking care of my special orders. Don't wait up, I'll see you at the rendezvous-point in a few hours._ "

"Alright. Good luck then." Tracer said, terminating the connection.

"What's she doing?" Hana asked, half looking up at Lena.

"She has a special assignment from the commander. We'll meet her later at the shuttle." Lena said and moved to follow Zarya. Hana reluctantly tagged along.

"Hey, you ok, luv?" Lena asked, turning around and holding an arm out. She put it around Hana's shoulders as soon as the younger woman was by her side.

"Yeah... it's just." DVa trailed off and for a few steps the only sound came from the dry snow scrunching under their boots. Her eyes wandered along the traces in the snow before them, one large and heavy, one light and small. She found Zarya still having an iron grip on Sombra a few steps ahead of them. She could hear the Latina insulting their comrade and Zarya grumbling in response, obviously annoyed and probably convincing herself that breaking the prisoner's neck would cause more trouble than it would be worth. It was almost funny to see how Sombra couldn't take her situation seriously at all. Or at least, she made it look like she couldn't.

"What is it?" Lena pressed, not willing to let Hana off the hook so easily and not liking how her friend gazed ahead of them, like she was somewhere else.

A few moments of silence passed, before Hana decided to speak up again. "When you told me about life always being too short, I don't know _unni..._ I guess, I never really thought there would be _so_ little time. I knew that people would die eventually, I just never believed it would be so... soon. It feels... weird, does that make sense to you?" she asked hopefully glancing at Tracer.

Lena nodded after a moment. "It's ok to mourn Lúcio, you know?"

"I know. And I did. At first I was devastated, but... It's not like we ever really talked. It was a silly crush and I feel so stupid now. I liked the idea of being with him, but... well, I never was, right? I miss the idea more than I miss him and I feel horrible for saying that. But I didn't really know Lúcio."

Lena gave that statement a lot of thought and didn't come up with a quick reply. She wasn't sure how to put it, but what Hana said made some sense to her. DVa only always looked from the distance, fancied Lúcio in the same way a teenage girl fancies the singer of a pop boy-band. She couldn't miss the person Lúcio was, simply because she never dared to get to know him as a person. Weird as that sounded, it was perfectly reasonable.

" _Unni?_ " DVa asked carefully. "Does that make me a bad person? I feel like it's what Widowmaker said, that some live and some die and that there should never be remorse. But that's so cruel and I really don't want to be cruel."

"No, Hana." Lena said and smiled at her friend "It does not make you a bad person. And what Amélie said is true, but not when you lose a friend. She was talking about our enemies, the people who are out to hurt us and the ones we care about." Tracer stopped and pulled DVa in a tight hug. "Listen, the dead are dead, they don't expect anything from us. You grieved the way you felt it was right for Lúcio. That it didn't take you months to process your feelings is perfectly fine. You didn't know him well. Trust me, he would have wanted you to move on quickly and enjoy life again. He certainly lived that way. You never know how much time is left. Make good memories of him and move on. It's what he would have done." Lena smiled and patted Hana's shoulder.

"Now come on, we can't let Zarya take all of Sombra's insults."

_She didn't insult me,_ DVa thought privately, but nodded anyway, following Tracer hot on her heels.

-/-

Katya had just told her bodyguard posted at the entrance of the private room to order a double shot of vodka for her to help calm down her nerves. He wordlessly obliged. Now she would just have to wait for it.

It was over. Finally over. Sombra was dealt with and would hopefully never intrude Katya's life again. That fact hadn't fully registered in Katya's head yet, she still felt tense and uneasy. But everything would be alright now that Sombra was gone. She didn't particularly care what happened to the hacker from this point on, as long as they would never see each other again.

She leaned back on the soft white couch and closed her eyes for a moment. That was until she heard a shuffling noise somewhere in front of her, followed by something which sounded distinctively like heels on glass. Katya opened her eyes.

It was the waitress, carrying a glass tablet with a long, thin bottle placed on it and a shot glass made of ice. Katya perked up an eyebrow at the outfit of the waitress. Or lack thereof. White high heels, matching stockings, garter belts, a micro skirt of the same color, and a revealing bikini top to match were hardly an outfit. Her long flawless hair was either a wig or dyed snow white too, but her ice blue eyes were definitely natural.

"Your shot of Vodka, Lady Volskaya." The waitress said, walking around the couches before she poured some of the transparent liquid into the shot glass and placed it on the table. Katya nodded curtly and took the shot, gesturing for the waitress to refill. Which she did, this time placing the bottle on the table, too.

"What's your name?" Katya asked, as she took the second shot.

"Uh... it's Anya." The waitress replied, her voice trembling a little bit. She wasn't used to customers talking to her beyond placing their order. She was only paid for bringing them drinks and looking nice. Conversation was usually no part of her job, and surely not conversing with the most powerful woman of Russia.

"Anya." Ms. Volskaya smiled. "That's a nice name. Care to keep me some company, Anya?"

"I... uhh." Anya blushed, clutching the tablet to her chest. _ShitwhatdoIsayWhatdoIsay..._

Katya laughed. "I'm sorry. You are working, how silly of me. Please, forget I said anything."

Anya nodded and turned to leave, but stopped after a few steps and turned around. "My shift ends at 11pm." She said nervously, biting her lower lip in a terribly cute way. "If you still want my company then." The young waitress, she couldn't have been older than 19, pressed out, completely red in her face. She was so adorable.

Katya only smiled. It was a decision made on a whim, she usually didn't do that. "I'll have a car picking you up."

-/-

**Watchpoint Gibraltar, around the same time**

"I assure you Mr. Lindholm, my results are more than accurate." Symmetra crossed her arms over her chest, tapping a finger onto her biceps in a more than annoyed manner, while she watched the engineer chase after an easily fascinated Bastion. The robot had been in this workshop for days, but still hadn't lost its morbid curiosity for literally everything. A few cables were hooked up to his main processing core and his memory database, so Bastion's movement was limited. Despite that, the robot still rummaged through the workshop, not really caring about any direction to sit down. Much to its owner's dismay.

Torbjörn just grumbled. "Not possible. Where ever you got that piece of code from, it's not part of the original programming." He said, taking a few tools, which Bastion had picked up, out of the machines hands and put them back into a toolbox. "And for the thousandth time, it's Torbjörn. My father was Mr. Lindholm. The old grinch." He said grouchily. Bastion beeped sadly, but quickly found something else which he found interesting. Beeping happily the machine headed for a shelf containing various round objects of different color, only to notice that the cables connected to his body kept him barely out of reach. It beeped in frustration, looking at Torbjörn expectedly and tilting his metal head a little.

"What?"

"Beeeeduuuu..." Bastion said and Torbjörn followed the machines line of sight.

"No." he said. "No, I won't let you play with that."

"Deeeeeewwww...."

"No. It doesn't even work."

"De-de-de-deewwww." Bastion tilted his head again, this time into the other direction.

"Urgh, fine. Whatever, damn machine" Torbjörn reached out and took a yellow orb out of the storing-shelf before he passed it to Bastion. The huge robot took it into its hand with care, giving it a testing squeeze. The orb was flexible, almost like balloon filled with goo-like fluid. Bastion made a couple of happy beeping noises.

"If it is occupied, we might actually get some work done." Torbjörn said, turning his attention back to Satya who had been following the entire exchange between the dwarf and the huge killer machine. She was now giving him a very pointed look.

"Or so you say." She said with a level voice. "He is almost like a child, I suppose."

"It." Torbjörn corrected. "And it is not a child. It's a 7'3" tall killer robot with some kind of malfunction."

"A highly fascinating malfunction." Satya said, perking up an eyebrow and drawing great pleasure from the annoyed huff Torbjörn made. All the time they had been working together they tried to get underneath each other's skin. Why they did this no one really knew, they just did. Both Satya Vaswani as well as Torbjörn were exceptionally smart people, experts in their fields and artists of engineering. Maybe not I-can-screw-over-death-itself-Ziegler smart, but definitely more to that end of the spectrum than the other. They probably just enjoyed having someone around who appreciates their sense of humor and their smart potshots.

"One which should not be there. Here-" he pointed at some lines of code on the display they were both working on, the one Bastion was hooked up to. "Those lines of code should be active, but they aren't."

"Which is great, because those are his-"

"-its-"

"-his killing-subroutines. I for myself prefer those turned off while I am in the same room with him."

Torbjörn was sick of both grumbling to himself and correcting her so he just shook his head. "And your explanation is that it's getting deactivated by a whole different sub-system?"

"Precisely. Though I suppose a sub-system is the wrong word. It's more like a new base-programming. The processes of his AI-patterns are running on an extremely deep level."

"Which is impossible."

"Why?" Vaswani challenged and Torbjörn groaned.

"This is a standard issue SST Laboratories Siege Automaton E54, true or false?"

"True."

"It has not been tampered with?"

"Not to our knowledge, no."

"See. I was involved in the development of those things. They do not come with a fully developed AI. They have base-level decision making modules, but other than that they rely on networking and an uplink to an actual, centralized AI. A group of a dozen units could in theory come close to something which someone might confuse for an AI, but it really isn't. Why do you think those things were following those damned God Programs like puppets? Because they got their whole intelligence from a central system. Which was the God Program itself after it had overtaken the right servers."

"That may be the case," Satya countered. "But then, how do you explain this?" She gestured toward the display, which was visualizing random fragments of code.

"I have no idea." Torbjörn admitted "We aren't even fully aware of what it _does_ yet. It might just be... code-trash."

Vaswani couldn't contain a short laugh. "Code-trash? Mr. Lindholm, you can't seriously think this is only-"

**_PLOPP_ **

"BEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!"

They both spun around to see a very panicked Bastion covered in a thick, sticky yellow fluid. Trying to get the substance off its frame, but with little success. It was only spreading the goo further, thick lines of yellow slime spreading between his arms and his body, limiting the machines movements.

"See, that's why I didn't want you to touch that, you big stupid tin can!" Torbjörn grumbled as he moved past Bastion, who was only falling into a fit of rapid beeping sounds. "Hold still, you are only going to make it worse" he admonished and started rummaging through an old box full of apparently useless crap until he found what he had been looking for. Whatever it was looked like a fire-extinguisher, just silver and not red.

"Really, I should just leave you like this." Torbjörn muttered into his beard, but started to use the fire-extinguisher thingy. A white cloud engulfed Bastion and when it disappeared again, the yellow sticky goo was gone.

Satya looked curiously "If you allow the question, _Torbjörn_. What kind of weapon was that?"

"No weapon. I developed this for the police. They wanted something for effective crowd control. Throw a couple of those things into a raging mob and done. They won't go anywhere anymore."

"Why was it never used?"

"The first person we tested it on got it on his face. He suffocated."

"Oh..."

"Happens. Back to our problem at hand." He said and looked sternly at bastion. "And this time you will sit down here and be still until we are done, got that?"

Bastion beeped ashamed, lowering his head. He walked over to the console the two humans were working on and let itself fall onto its rear.

"Maybe we should consult Zenyatta?"

"Like hell I will ask another tin can for help figuring out what happened to my own invention. We'll get behind this. It's not like we didn't make any progress."

"That is true. May I suggest then that we start anew with the core process diagnosis, but this time focus more on the deep system layer side and not so much on the behavioral patterns?"

"Agreed."

-/-

**St. Petersburg, Russia, 0129 hours.**

Katya couldn't sleep. And not because of the usual reasons. She couldn't sleep because her brain was going haywire rerunning the events of the past few hours in what felt like an infinite loop. Not that the things she saw were unpleasant. Not at all. She just couldn't believe that she actually _did_ it. And for some reason, Katya wasn't talking about the whole Sombra business, which, all things considered, went smoothly and with surprisingly little incidents.

No, she was thinking about everything which happened after Sombra and the Overwatch agents were already gone again. About Anya and the evening they had together. Katya was thinking about how she ended up in her own queen sized bed with a beautiful girl half her age curled up next to her, the girl's head resting on Volskaya's shoulder.  Anya had an arm draped over the director, like she was the only thing anchoring her in reality. That unique snow white hair Anya had was falling over the soft features of her cute face, lifting and sinking with every gentle breath the waitress took. Smiling fondly, Katya gently wiped the hair out of the way and tucked it behind Anya's ear, so it wouldn't tickle. Despite what the director initially thought, her guest's strange hair wasn't a wig after all. It wasn't even dyed, it was just plain white with no color at all.

The whole evening had been bizarre and so not like what Katya usually did. For some reason, she had decided to set all her usual habits at naught. She had picked up Anya at the agreed time in front of the Helios. Personally, that is, Katya didn't just send a car to have the waitress picked up. It made the CEO of Volskaya industries smile fondly when the young woman sat beside her in the luxurious limousine, entirely uncertain what she was supposed to do there and probably not entirely convinced that the soft leather wouldn't suddenly eat her whole either. As it turned out, Anya was just generally rather shy and blushed easily. For Katya, it was really adorable how her date was not sure what was ok to talk about and what wasn't. Katya had little difficulties to tell that her companion was filled to the brim with questions, but she had to pry them out of Anya in the beginning.

They had agreed to get something to eat and Katya insisted that Anya would decide where they would go. The waitress said that she probably didn't know a single place Katya would normally go to, she was afraid that it just wouldn't be fancy enough for the rich businesswoman. Anya didn't know that this had been the whole point why Ms. Volskaya suggested the idea. She didn't want to go to some posh place. She wanted to see where Anya normally went. How her life looked like. So, after some convincing and carefully placed flirts, they had ended up in a small, cozy restaurant in one of the darker back alleys of St. Petersburg. Somewhere where Katya had truly never been before in her entire life. It wasn't the cleanest place on earth, but the food was dirt cheap. It was supposed to be some kind of soljanka, which looked like it was cooked to a pulp. Despite this it tasted really delicious and Katya found herself eating her entire helping, something she usually never did. Anya was apparently close to the owner of the restaurant and so she found herself in front of a refilled plate the second she had finished her first one. During dinner shy and insecure Anya was starting to open up more and more, talking, joking and laughing with Katya. She learned that the waitress had four sisters two of which were still very young. When they left Anya explained that she came to this place often after work to grab a cheap meal. They went to a bar after that and Katya managed to get Anya to feel more or less comfortable around her. Admittedly there might have been a little vodka involved to help the younger woman lighten up, but Katya was glad about that. She had never enjoyed herself this much in a long time.

When the evening had progressed already and tiredness had started claiming its toll, Ms. Volskaya had taken Anya home into one of the cheaper areas in St. Petersburg. Anya had been strangely quiet the entire ride there. When they had been sitting in the car in front of the industrialized apartment block, Anya started shifting around in her seat uneasily. She had an ashamed blush on her face when she told Katya that she had such a lovely evening and so much fun and that she would definitely invite her up for coffee or anything, but she admitted that she shared a two room flat with her four sisters and that it just wasn't possible. Anya was about to flee the car in that moment when Katya placed a hand on the younger woman's thigh. She asked if she'd rather share a bed this night than a flat and only with one person and not four others.

By the time they made it through Katya's front door they were both already half naked and making out wildly, sucking on their lips and tucking on the remains of their clothes.

And now Katya couldn't sleep despite being completely exhausted and wholly satisfied. She couldn't sleep because for the first time in longer than she cared to admit, she felt happy. She felt appreciated as a person, not as a public figure. She felt wanted as Katya, not as Director Volskaya. Anya didn't seem to expect anything, she didn't demand anything. Hell, they had almost gotten into an argument over dinner, because Anya insisted she would pay for her own meal. A smile spread across Katya's lips as she idly played with Anya's white hair. She had never been with a woman before, but so far, this was absolutely great. The sleeping girl, she was hardly more, mumbled something and snuggled closer to Katya's sleeping form.

Just when Katya noticed Anya's slow and steady heartbeat against her skin, the phone on the nightstand buzzed. The rattling noise on the glass nightstand was loud and annoying against the silence of the bedroom. Katya grabbed the device to check what it wanted and was entirely unpleased with the brightness of the display, blinking a couple of times to get used to the sudden light. She had a text message from Sasha, the man she usually saw for her bodily pleasures. Which was weird, because he usually never texted her. Frowning she opened the message.

_Katya,_

_I'm sorry to bother you, but this is extremely important. I'm in deep trouble and I really need your help. I don't know who else to ask, you are my only hope. Please. I'll do anything you want me to, but please. I beg you, come to my place as soon as you can. Please._

_Sasha_

Ms. Volskaya blinked. This was mildly worrisome. Sasha was a nice guy, a decent guy. Someone who usually didn't get into any kind of trouble and who always made time for her. It was late and she was comfy, true, but he sounded desperate. Also, she wouldn't be able to sleep anyway. Curiosity would keep her awake.

_I'll be there in half an hour._

She texted back, before carefully slipping out of bed. She quickly grabbed some clothes and put them on, before she went back to the bed and sat down on the edge.

"Anya?" she whispered gently. "Anya? Wake up, Snowflake."

"Mhh..." Anya groaned groggily, trying to get her eyes to comply with her brains commands to open. It took her a couple of tries until they stayed open and didn't flutter shut again, before she shot up in the bed like a scalded cat. "Shit! How late is it? I'm so sorry, I should have left! You clearly don't need-"

Katya shut her up by stealing a kiss. "Hush." she said with a fond smile and pulled the still naked girl into her lap. "It's still deep in the night. I have to go and take care of an emergency. You stay right here where you are and sleep. Feel like home." She kissed her tenderly and felt how Anya immediately relaxed again. "I wouldn't mind if you were still here when I come back. If you want. We could have breakfast."

Anya beamed at her, resting her head against Katya's shoulder "Then I will wait for you. And make breakfast... Do you have any toast?"

Katya couldn't help but smile, because Anya was already fast asleep again.

-/-

Her punctuality was something Katya always took great pride in. So when she said she'd be at Sasha's place in half an hour that was true. It was exactly 30 minutes after she had read the text when she knocked on the door of Sasha's apartment. He had a nice middle class flat in one of the better areas of St. Petersburg. Mostly paid by Ms. Volskaya for the sole reason that she didn't like sharing and didn't want him to see any other customers. That meant she covered his living expenses. Which was fine by her.

A few moments after she knocked, the door was opened and Sasha, a man with blonde hair, blue eyes and of athletic build greeted her. He was usually well tanned, but today his face had lost all color. He stepped aside to let her in, not uttering a single word. She found herself right in his dark living room, since there was no vestibule.

"So, what's the big emergency Sasha? What can I do for you?" Katya asked while Sasha closed the door again. She slipped out of her beige coat and tossed it over the couch. "Why are the lights out? I can barely see." She said before she turned around. That was the second the lights in Sasha's flat came to life and Katya felt like she was rooted to the spot. She couldn't believe what she saw. It could not be. It was impossible. No. Why?

"I am so sorry." Sasha whispered, looking ashamed and scared for his life at the same time. The reason for that was clear. There was a third person in the room leaning to the wall next to the door, right next to the light switch. It was a woman with purple hair and glowing golden eyes. She was wearing a tightly closed black trench coat and had a pistol with a long suppressor pointed at Sasha.

There was no introduction necessary.

"W-what are you doing here?!" Volskaya pressed out, every ounce of curiosity for Sasha's situation vanished. She was sure she couldn't even spell the word curiosity right now.

"How rude, director. Good evening to you too." Widowmaker said in fluent Russian as she walked a few steps into the room, keeping the gun pointed at Sasha. Her expression was unreadable as she continued. "You seem a little surprised." She said and was indeed curious about this herself. Volskaya had contacted Talon, that's what Morrison told her. They knew because the protocol appeared on Reaper's desk and he was tasked to find a way to retrieve Sombra before Overwatch could. He would send his team tomorrow. Until then everything would be said and done. The question remained. Why was the director surprised to see her? She probably expected Talon to send someone else than their master assassin, which would make sense. Volskaya had no way of knowing that Widow didn't work for Talon anymore. She probably thought that Talon found out about Volskaya contacting both Overwatch as well as them capturing Sombra and that Widow was now here to collect on some debts.

Then again, it didn't really matter. Widow had her orders and she would carry them out. Amélie had promised to eradicate Talon once and for all. That woman did business with Talon. To Widowmaker there was hardly a difference.

Katya Volskaya was as pale as an ancient marble statue, drained from all color, she could only open and close her mouth like a fish out of the water. What was going on here? She didn't contact Talon, she didn't take their deal, she didn't do anything to warrant Widowmaker's presence here. And why here? Why in Sasha's home? Why was she pointing a gun at him? It didn't make any sense.

"No reply? Fine. I'll tell you how we will proceed now." Amélie said calmly but with her trademark smirk. She looked at Katya with an expression the other woman didn't like for a second. She didn't know which of the many worrisome factors of this scenario caused the uneasy feeling in her stomach, but it was there and it told her that nothing good would come out of this meeting. Widowmaker shouldn't be here. There was only one reason Talon had to send her anywhere and that reason was not to have negotiations. But the assassin didn't seem to care about Katya's inner panic, as she calmly continued coming closer.

"Say, is she your lover? Do you like her?" Widow asked of Sasha, her smirk changing to an almost warm smile. Yet the danger lurking in her eyes was not lost on Katya. This was an assassin, not a friend, a predator during the hunt, not a woman, an artist of death, the spider which lured her prey into her web until it was too late. Every fiber of Katya's body screamed to run away as fast as she humanly could while screaming for help. But she knew that she'd probably be dead in the same moment she'd make a sudden move.

"Well... errr.. I..." Sasha replied, rooted to the spot.

"I pay him to sleep with me. This is not concerning him in the slightest." Katya tried to sound determined.

"Oh, I know that. I was just curious. It would have been more fun if you two had an actual romance, but this will have to do." She said as she reached Katya. Suddenly the director had a large knife on her throat, the cold metal digging deeply into the skin.

"What are you doing?!" Katya exclaimed, but immediately shut up when Widowmaker pressed the knife harder to her throat. What was going on here? The gun was still pointed at Sasha and Katya herself was in no less danger it seemed. Where was Widowmaker going with this?

"Stop, let her go!" Sasha exclaimed.

"Quiet. Both of you." Widowmaker hissed and was happy to see that both her hostages complied perfectly.

"Good. Now, let's see. Why don't we all take a seat?" Widow suggested and waved her pistol over to the large U-shaped couch. Sasha hesitated but did as he was told, walking over to his dark brown couch where he sat down. Widowmaker followed with Katya, choosing the place opposite to Sasha.

"Listen, you don't need Sasha for this, do you? Just let him go." Katya tried, but only got roughly shoved onto the sofa with Widowmaker disturbingly close to her right.

"You just be happy that I didn't prepare for that white haired pet of yours. You seem fond of her." Widow hissed.

That shut Katya up. _Anya. Fuck. This is bad. Really bad._ But Katya couldn't do anything, not with the knife still at her throat and the gun aimed at Sasha.

"I'm pretty sure you have seen something like this before. I figured you have, since you sell them." Widowmaker stated and held the pistol in front of the director's eyes.

She nodded.

"Great. Have you held a gun before?"

Katya nodded again, frowning.

"Even better." Amélie smirked, handing a stunned Lady Volskaya her gun. "Be a dear and hold that for me." Widow said. "Oh, and I probably don't need to mention this, but I'll cut your throat if your try and point it anywhere else than dear Sasha over there." She added, reaching into the pocket of her coat and pulled out two letters. She let one fall on the small coffee table in front of them and stuffed the other one back into her pocket.

"What's that?" Katya asked, leaning forward carefully.

"Don't recognize the handwriting?" Amélie smirked as Volskaya paled even more. If that was even possible without becoming transparent, but apparently, it was.

"It's mine! How did you do this? Why-" she couldn't finish the sentence as Widowmaker had grabbed her hand and forced her to pull the trigger a couple of times. The gun made a few muffled sizzling noises, riddling poor Sasha with bullets. Would Widowmaker have shot herself, she would have used a simple double-tap. One bullet to the chest, one to the head. But that wasn't what an emotional amateur like the director would do in that situation.

The director tried to scream, but Amélie immediately let go of the knife and pushed her hand onto Katya's mouth. Someone screaming wouldn't do her good. The less noise, the better. Widow paid extra attention to keeping a tight hold of the gun and Katya's hand holding it.

"Shhh." Amélie whispered, bending Katya's arm around while still forcing her to hold the pistol. "It's your farewell note. Really passionate too, don't you agree? Filled with regret and angst. Quite touching, how you come clean about your marriage and how it was all a lie. How you are fed up with hiding and only want to be united with your lovely boyfriend. I almost cried." She said as she removed the hand from the director's mouth.

"Why are you doing this?" Katya asked, her hands shaking badly. She wasn't even fighting back her tears anymore. "You shouldn't be here. How did you know where I am?"

Widow only smirked "Still didn't figure it out? I wasn't sent by Talon."

"What? Wait! I didn't-"

"Morrison sends his regards. Traitor."

The panic was written all over Katya's face. "Wait! I never contacted-"

Katya's body went limp in her arms and Widowmaker let go. The lifeless corpse of the director sunk to the brown couch, dark red blood quickly pooling on the leather surface. Amélie picked up her knife again and left the pistol where it was.

The experts of the Russian forensic department would later confirm that the burn marks on director Volskaya's hand matched the unlicensed gun found at the scene and deduce that this was indeed a murder-suicide, just as it was stated in Katya's farewell letter.

-/-

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Alright, that's it for this round of Addictions, I really hope you lot all enjoyed it.
> 
> Beta reading was done by the lovely Jfb, without whom I couldn't do this.
> 
> "You wanted me to remind you to mention that Tipeee thing."
> 
> -Thank you Amélie, already did.
> 
> "Fine fine. So are you done yet?"
> 
> -I think, yeah.
> 
> "parfait. Then come on, Angela is waiting."
> 
> -uh?
> 
> "Dinner, patate? You promised to take us all?"
> 
> -riiight. I did. Be with you in a second. Where is Lena?
> 
> "We have to pick her up on the way."
> 
> Ok, so yeah. I gotta go and get some food with the ladies. I hope you all have a great time and of course I want to say a huge thank you to everyone who is reading this, leaving comments or adds favs/follows. Your support means more to me than you all know.
> 
> And you know if you want to buy me a coffee now, you can :P
> 
> See you in the next one. Which won't take me this long, I think. But the break I took was really worth, I feel much better.
> 
> o7
> 
> E82
> 
> -/-
> 
> Translations:
> 
> ¡Vete al infierno, pendejo = (Spanish) Go to hell, asshole.


	40. Switchblade

_TOP SECRET_

_-High priority-_

_Situational military status update #2151, Central Europe – Austria and Germany_

_Follow up report to assessment-file #155, Central Europe – Third Omnic Crisis._

_Lt. Col. Samantha Carter, U.S. Department of Homeland Security, Prometheus Project Division_

_At 1130 hours local time our surveillance satellites captured a sufficient amount of raw data to justify a preliminary status update regarding the Omnic situation in central Europe. As shown by the photos attached to this report the joint efforts of the German and Austrian forces are slowly starting to gain ground after their initial struggle to apply an effective strategy. Taking into consideration how many Omnics the illegal Omnium (reference previous report) was able to release at a moment's notice and without any warning, this is hardly surprising. What_ is _surprising, however, is the fact that the use of an electromagnetic bomb was only sufficient for stalling the enemies' advance for barely 20 hours. After this time period their forces were fully functional again. A phenomenon which had been discussed before (See attachments 1. Technical proof of concept #210 - Area 51 and 2. Hypothetical worst case scenario catalogue #155 – rogue AI). As of now the bulk of the Omnic troops is forced into a slow retreat._

_Based on the available data two assumptions can made:_

  1. _The Omnium incident in Austria is with all statistical probability_ not _an isolated event, but an unplanned, unscheduled activation, which was not meant to happen like this._
  2. _There is currently no active God-Program commanding the Omnics._



_Current prognoses suggest that an activation of a God-Program is likely and should be expected in the foreseeable future. The existence of further illegal Omnic production plants cannot be excluded at this point and should be taken into careful consideration. A larger scale uprising is within possible parameters._

_UN involvement seems unlikely at this point and wouldn't prioritize US interests sufficiently._

_Recommendation: Immediate initiation of the Damocles protocol and preparation to conduct a complete internal defense system isolation. STRATCOM is advised to disable digital launch procedures and switch to the corresponding analog Damocles protocol procedures. SOCOM is to be placed under direct command of the Prometheus Project Division and will be tasked with taking the necessary preparation for another Omnic uprising as specified in the Damocles protocol._

_It is advised that the general public should not to be informed of these actions. Media control laws can be activated under national security regulations 72 – 098._

_Possible orders have already been drafted and need to be signed by the president._

_-/-_

**France, unknown place, unknown time**

Savant was enjoying his more than elaborate dinner. More exactly, he was relishing the second of what would be six more courses. A sophisticated dinner had always been of the utmost importance to the politician, for it reflected wealth and status in an elegant, non swanky way. He also quite enjoyed the ceremonial character of dining, sitting down on a large table with fine silken table cloths, golden candlesticks, silver cutlery with classy engravings and only the finest china. He liked how one of his new maids served him each course with devotion, while the other always stood next to him, waiting to refill his glass of wine. She did nothing else but stand there and wait.

The food was delicious, and Savant enjoyed it almost as much as the classical music playing softly in the background. Oh yes, everything was going so well these days.

Savant smiled to himself as he chewed on a piece of perfectly prepared shrimp on garlic-truffle sauce. However, his peaceful dinner was interrupted by the door to the dining room opening and another maid entering.

"Forgive the interruption, Master, but Mr. Schrödinger is here to see you." The maid said and bowed deeply.

Chewing and swallowing slowly, Savant reached for a silk napkin and dabbed it gently over his lips. He took his time folding the napkin and placing it next to his plate, before replying calmly. "Oh yes. I have been expecting him. Send him in."

The maid nodded and stepped aside for Abraxas Schrödinger to enter the room. He nodded a polite thank you to the maid, who retreated immediately, closing the heavy door behind her.

"Thiery." He smiled a cold, calculating smile, adjusting the large deep red tie on his charcoal three piece suit.

"Good to see you, Abraxas." Savant also smiled, his version a lot more refined, less obvious and a parade example of what a politician's fake smile should look like. "Come, join me." He gestured to the seat to his side, before snapping his fingers at the maid next to him "You! Bring us the other bottle of red wine. I will not be sharing this piss with my... dear friend."

"The one reserved for special occasions, Master?" the maid asked innocently.

"Of course that one, dumb cunt. Now hurry up!" he hissed with a glare, the maid bowed quickly and immediately hurried away.

Mr. Schrödinger meanwhile opened the button on his jacket and sat down. "I'm afraid I'm not the bearer of great news, Thiery."

"Oh?" Savant perked up an eyebrow, but didn't seem surprised at all. Then again, it was always hard to tell if Savant really expected something to happen or if he only took it well. His poker face was one of a kind. A short smirk flashed over his lips before he turned his attention back to his dinner.

"Director Volskaya turned up dead yesterday morning." Abraxas said calmly. "Just like you suspected."

"Bad news indeed. I had hoped that my suspicion would be wrong, but it cannot be helped. Reaper was the only one who knew about Volskaya?" Savant asked.

"Yes, he and your former maid, Gerda." Schrödinger replied while crossing his legs and making himself comfortable in the offered chair.

Savant only shook his head. "She has no choice but to be loyal. Which leaves only one option."

Abraxas carefully cleared his throat. "Don't you think you are maybe jumping to conclusions in this case? I know you have been suspecting Reaper might not be as loyal to the cause as we had initially thought, but that he murdered Volskaya? And to what end?"

Savant chuckled deeply, apparently very much amused by Schrödinger's idea. "Oh, no, no. He didn't kill her, he wouldn't have the time for that. But he surely passed this information along to someone who does have the time and the motivation to get rid of Volskaya. Reaper is a traitor after all. Shame."

"That is pure speculation, Thiery. We don't know that." Abraxas stated calmly, his smart eyes pinned on Savant. The man had a way of commanding attention like no one else the attorney had ever met in his life. It was both quite fascinating and pretty scary.

"We don't? Of course we do, it's only logical. Think about it. Who has been hunting us down ever since the first day Talon appeared?"

"The former Overwatch Commander. Jack Morrison, I presume?"

"Correct. Morrison has been on the hunt for us ever since they shut down his silly club of heroes. Do you honestly think it's coincidence that every source of information we had in Overwatch has turned up dead over the course of the last few years? He learned something it seems. There is only one way to deal with traitors. Which is why Reaper has to go." Savant concluded. To him the entire question was crystal clear. Otherwise he wouldn't have let Reaper know about a deal with Volskaya, which had never existed.

However, Savant didn't like the frown on Schrödinger's face.

"That's unfortunately where I have to disagree." The attorney said calmly. "For all we know, Director Volskaya committed suicide. I bribed the necessary sources in Russia and they confirmed it, she shot her lover and then herself. Even left a hand written farewell letter. It all checks out. No sign of a third party being present, no inconsistencies at the crime scene or with the body. The scene shows no signs of being altered or tampered with, there is no additional DNA at the scene, no questionable ambiguities, nothing. For all we know, it was just bad timing." Abraxas explained uncomfortably. He would have liked to give his boss a better answer, something more definite.

"But Overwatch was there to pick up Sombra, just as we planned, correct?" Savant wanted to know.

"Correct, they took the bait." Schrödinger nodded.

"So, you are telling me it was a mere coincidence that the director conveniently committed suicide on the very same day Overwatch was there to snag Sombra?"

"As unlikely as it seems, all hard facts and evidence we have point to that being the case, yes. What happened gives us no clues if Reaper is a traitor, like you suspect. There is nothing militating against him and personally I think he is too valuable an asset to get rid of because of a hunch. He achieved great things since he took over."

Savant only grumbled.

"Also, I have to add that Reaper did everything in his power to find Sombra before Overwatch could. Maybe we should have let him in on our plans. If he had managed to find her before Overwatch did, we would have been back to square one. We were lucky that Volskaya was actively helping Overwatch. Otherwise Reaper and his agents might have very well been faster. He is working very thoroughly. I don't understand why you would accept the risk of Reaper finding Sombra before Overwatch does, if your plan is entirely based on her being at their base? Or is it just one of your double-games again and you really don't have any interest in Sombra after all? Are you going for an entirely different goal after all, Thiery? Something I don't get at all? It would explain why you'd offer Volskaya a deal like you did if you never had an interest in Sombra."

Savant chuckled deeply, greatly enjoying how the lawyer was fumbling in the dark. "Oh, I have all the interest in the world in Sombra, you got that quite right. She needs to be at Gibraltar and with Overwatch and not here. The deal with Volskaya? It was only bait for Reaper and nothing else. Bad bait as it seems because we have learned nothing." Savant smirked, piercing some more food with his fork and eyeing it carefully before putting it in his mouth with care. He chewed appreciatively before going on: "You should know me better by now. I have a plan for everything. Had Volskaya really agreed to the deal we offered, I would have gotten a truly great arms deal. Reaper would have been told to stand down and let Sombra get away in the last minute, effectively forcing her into Overwatch's arms. He would have been clear of any suspicions then. But it didn't happen this way, and I am not ashamed to admit bad planning on my behalf." Savant said, finishing the current course of his meal just in time for his maid to come back with the bottle of wine he had sent her for. She expertly poured Mr. Schrödinger a glass, before doing the same for Savant.

"I can't honestly say that I understand. It seems like an awfully complicated plan for what reason? Only to see if Reaper was loyal to us? Surely there would have been easier ways? I mean, you tested him before and he always passed. You are up to more, aren't you? Thiery, may I ask why it's so important for Sombra to be with Overwatch? You never shared that."  he said, reaching for his glass.

Savant raised his glass and they clinked them together. Schrödinger took a sip, but Savant only smiled before placing the filigree crystal cup back on the table.

"I suppose I can tell you now." He smirked sinisterly. "She has no other choice but to go there. I've ordered her to do so after I forced her to upload the next god-program into her neural network. She has a surprise for their ridiculous AI. If you like drama, you could call her a Trojan horse if you want." He laughed at Schrödinger's expression. The lawyer was blinking rapidly, trying to loosen his tie. It was suddenly getting very hot, wasn't it? And why was his vision suddenly so blurry?

After he started wheezing, a choking sound and some unhealthy convulsions, Abraxas Schrödinger fell off his chair with bloodshot eyes and froth covering his mouth. He didn't move anymore.

Savant only glanced down at the dead body.

"I don't like underachiever." He said, turning his attention back to the next course his other maid had just served him. "Clean up the mess." He said easily "And when you're done, I want you two to go and get me the files on possible replacements for this..." he looked at Schrödinger's dead body "... disappointment. And my speech for my next public event. I want to say something about the decisiveness of Chancellor Adenauer and Kurz. Those two are doing great work for us without even knowing it." He said, glancing at his two maids. "What are you waiting for, better times? Get going!"

"Yes, Master." They said without hesitation, before they got to work. Savant smiled to himself, putting a piece of roast beef on his fork. He would have to think about what he would do with Reaper. His mind told him that Abraxas had made a valid point, but his gut still told him something was not right. And his gut was usually not wrong. It seemed that the time to contact Akande Ogundimu again had come.

-/-

**Orca shuttle #21, four hours later, final approach to Watchpoint: Gibraltar**

Silence was seldom comfortable. True, there were the rare occasions of tranquil quietness some people tended to share when they were completely comfortable around each other. But the deafening silence inside the Orca shuttle was nothing like that. No one in their right mind would have considered this to be comfortable. It was heavy, hanging over the shuttle like an all consuming veil.

It had been like this from the moment Widowmaker returned to the shuttle and the team was ready to leave St. Petersburg. Before that there had at least been some conversation. Sombra trying to wind up Zarya while she was being placed in one of the chairs and Zarya securely tied the hacker to the support bars, to prevent her from escaping. The insults Sombra came up with while Zarya had been trying to take all of the technology the Latina had handy away from her were almost hilarious. The hacker hadn't really protested, she just made sure to let Zarya know about her opinion. That, however, rapidly changed when Zarya was about to take Sombra's gloves away. The teasing undertone in her voice all but vanished and Sombra had tried to fight back fiercely, but ultimately was no match for the taller, stronger and not tied up weightlifter, who ripped the glove off from Sombra's fingers. The Latina had screamed and kicked, as it turned out not out of spite, but because the removal of her gloves caused her unimaginable pain. Her gloves were connected to her neural system and ripping them off caused her immense pain, numbing her skin and sending her nerves into a state of shock. No one knew about that.

Zarya had uttered something which could have both been an insult and an apology, before she stomped away, leaving Sombra in her chair, clutching her arm to her body.

In the end it had been Hana, who managed to talk Sombra into giving her the other glove, though Tracer didn't hear what her friend had said. She spent quite some time talking to the hacker though. Typically for Hana, she had been almost too kind.

That was the situation Widowmaker had walked into when she returned to the shuttle. With a raised brow and a reproachful look on her face she had told DVa to never make the mistake of lowering her guard around Sombra. At least not if she didn't want to get herself seriously hurt.

Sombra's playful smile froze in that moment, not that Amélie would have noticed or cared. She had already stalked off into a quiet corner of the shuttle, her heels clicking loudly on the metal floor until they were gone.

Ever after that it had been silent.

Zarya has been doing her workout, making no noise apart from some strained grunts every now and then.

Sombra was still seated in her seat, refusing to speak.

DVa chose to sit next to the hacker, but didn't talk either.

And Widowmaker? Well, she had moved to the couch in the corner of the shuttle, her legs crossed on top of the table and gazed out of the window. Her face was void of any expression or even a hint of emotion. There was nothing. For everyone else she might have been her usual regal self, carrying herself with an air of superiority and grace, but Lena knew better. Something was off about her girlfriend. Very much off.

When she asked her if something was wrong, all she got as a reply was an ever so faint smile and a weird "quite alright, _chérie._ "

Luckily Tracer wouldn't have to wait much longer until she could go off to the side with Widow and ask what was bothering her. In a few moments they would land in Gibraltar, give Sombra to Morrison, maybe have a short mission debriefing and then do whatever they wanted.

Maybe some dinner. Lena sighed deeply at the thought of a warm, proper meal. That sounded rather heavenly as of now. She had only eaten sandwiches the last couple of days for some reason. She'd have time to change that soon.

The Orca smoothly completed its landing maneuver, touching the ground with a barely noticeable shake and stopping the engines. As the whirring died off, the pilot opened the shuttles loading bay door, while DVa was working on untying Sombra from her chair. Outside there were already a few soldiers clad in the dark blue Overwatch uniform, ready to escort the prisoner to the holding cells.

"So, what are you all going to do with me, now that you have me?" Sombra asked while the soldiers boarded the Orca, one of them taking out a set of zip-tie handcuffs from his belt.

"You'll have to wait and see." Tracer replied with a shrug. She could feel Widowmaker walking up behind her and noticed how Sombra's sight left her face and peered over her shoulder somewhere behind her. At least she did until the soldiers turned her around, cuffed her hands behind her back and were about to push her out of the shuttle.

"Honestly, I would have taken _any_ bet you're dead, spider." Sombra said, trying to shake the strong hand of the soldier behind her off her shoulder, but failing.

"You watch your mouth." Amélie snarled as she walked past them, quickly leaving the shuttle. Tracer only stared after her, taking in the sight that was her girlfriend. Everything about her was gorgeous.

"Ma'am?" One of the soldiers sent to escort Sombra started, catching her attention. He was obviously waiting for something and Lena had to blink twice before she realized what it was.

"Oh, yes. Sorry. Take her to holding. We'll see what we do with her after debriefing."

"The Commander told us he is waiting in the command center for you and your team." the soldier informed her, and Lena nodded her understanding.

She turned to leave the Orca, walking down into the busy hangar with all the technicians running around, the flight personnel going about whatever business they had and of course the cargo crews driving around boxes of whatever stuff was inside.

Widowmaker was leaning on an ammo crate, her face still entirely void of any expression past annoyance and a tiny flicker of disgust. Where that came from was beyond Lena. She joined her pretty girlfriend, crossing her arms over her chest and trying to figure out how to best coax Widow out of  the shell the French assassin had retreated into. They had to talk about what was bothering Amélie, sooner better than later.

"Sooo..." Lena started, not looking at her lover. Despite her being there, right next to Amélie, she felt so far away at the same time. Like there was an unscalable Wall starting to rise between them. "Want to hang out after the briefing?" she asked hopefully. Lena could only pray that Widow wouldn't decide to push her away now.

Widow merely nodded without saying so much as a word.

"My quarters?"

She nodded again, and Lena suppressed the urge to sigh. Her girlfriend was not in a talkative mood today. Which was nothing new, Widowmaker never was and would never be a chatterbox, but today she was uncharacteristically quiet. Even for her standards.  Which was honestly starting to worry Lena more than she wanted to admit to herself. She thought they were long past the stage where Amélie would shut Lena out. It felt like she had been wrong about that. And that hurt.

"I'll need to talk to the Commander in private afterwards, though. I will join you when I am done." Widow stated, and Lena resisted the urge to ask her any questions, no matter how much she wanted to.

"Do I need to be jealous, hmm?" Lena asked with a badly suppressed giggle, trying to lighten up the mood a bit.

Amélie looked at her like someone just stole her favorite meal from right in front of her eyes. "Wha-"

"No worries, luv. I know you have to discuss your super secret mission with him." She smiled poking her girlfriend in the side as they both watched how Sombra was taken away by the guards with DVa hot on their heels, ranting about something. One of the soldiers was trying to get a word in, but the ever headstrong Ms. Song wouldn't have any of his interruptions. She was giving the poor guy hell for no apparent reason other than them doing their job. A part of Tracer thought it was kind of endearing how fierce DVa could be.

"I'd have slapped her by now." Widow stated coolly and only got a perked up eyebrow from Lena as a response.  

"Hana!" Tracer yelled across the hangar. "Leave them alone, they know what they are doing. Go and get Zarya, we are meeting the Commander for debriefing."

"But, Unni, they are-"

"Haven't you heard your superior, little girl? You are wasting your time on that Mexican piece of trash. Do what Tracer said!" Widow hissed loudly and in a way only the scary assassin could ever pull off. Her voice was cutting through the hangar like a razorblade.

"She isn't trash!" DVa replied

"Hana! We haven't got all day." Tracer yelled again, putting a stop to the argument which was about to explode.

"Urhg, fine!" DVa shouted back, rolling her eyes. She just wanted to make sure that Sombra would be treated with the respect any human deserved. Not that DVa doubted this to be the case, but she still wanted to make sure. She didn't even know why. It was unnecessary, she knew and so, with a deep sigh, she turned and searched for Zarya. Still, she thought Sombra could have used some company. At least company which wasn't pushing her around and treat her like... well, like trash, as Widow had put it so bluntly.

Smiling, Lena pushed herself off the crate and turned to leave. "You coming, Blueberry? The sooner we are done with this, the sooner we have time for us." She said with a wink, actually managing to get a small smile in return from her lover. There was no teasing reply, no witty and slightly snide remark, nothing of the usual way Widow reacted. Yes, something was definitely bothering Amélie and Lena would find out what it was.

All the way to the command room Widowmaker followed silently, only one or two steps behind Lena. Like a dog following his owner. Their steps where echoing down the hallway as they both walked toward Lena's quarters. It was still dark outside with the moon shining brightly on the sky, dipping the world outside in a cool silver glint. Only far outside where the horizon met the edge of the world, the first few rays of a new sunshine could be spotted, bringing in some very dark orange colors. The ever so gentle early signs of yet another day. When Lena looked over her shoulder she found Amélie looking outside, but not really taking in the scenery. She was totally out of it.

_Seriously, what is going on with her?_

Lena groaned, reluctantly putting the thought to the side for now. First things first. She greeted the guard positioned at the entrance of the command center, and walked inside, closely followed by the former assassin. Navigating through the busy crowd of people working on their assigned projects Lena quickly found the meeting room in the back.

It was easy to see the Commander was already there, since the entire front wall of the room was made of glass, facing the command center. Morrison was sitting on a large wooden conference table in the middle of the room and drinking a cup of hot coffee. Lena had to admit that the Commander did in fact look a little tense the last couple of weeks. Even more tense than he usually did. She shook her head ever so slightly, not wanting to worry about him too, before she opened the glass door and entered.

"Welcome back, Agent Oxton." Morrison nodded as a greeting, before briefly acknowledging the second woman entering right behind Tracer. "Widowmaker."

"Boss," Lena saluted quickly before she took a seat on the table. Her girlfriend didn't react at all, she chose to stand right behind Lena.

Morrison perked up an eyebrow, words visibly forming on his tongue, but he didn't get to say them, as the door opened again. Zarya and DVa came in, greeted the Commander properly and seated themselves on the table.

"I take it the mission was a success?" Morrison wanted to know, reclining in his leather chair. The Commander looked tired these days. Worn. Like the years of hardship and struggle he had put into his work finally chose to show their signs.  

"Absolutely. We have Sombra, she is currently being placed in the holding area." Lena informed the Commander, choosing not to say a word about his tired look. It wasn't her place after all. Maybe she'd ask Mercy to have a look at him one of these days? Would that be right?

"Any complications?" he wanted to know, turning his mug of coffee back and forth in between his hands.

"None." Tracer replied, scratching her chin in thought. "Well almost. She _did_ try to run away, but didn't get far. We contained the situation quickly."

"Any damages resulting from that?" Morrison wanted to know, now leaning forward in his chair, making it creak just enough to be annoying. It wasn't like he could have done anything about eventual damages, but he still wanted to know.

That was when Widow snorted. "Other than her broken face? _Non._ "

"You broke her face?" Morrison blinked in disbelieve. What was wrong with that Woman, seriously.

"What was I supposed to do? She ran against my heel." Widowmaker shrugged. "And then fell off a ramp. Her stupidity is not my fault. She tried to get away. I stopped that."

Morrison sighed audibly. "Is she hurt?" he asked, not really believing that he actually _had_ to give voice to that question.

"Not from the beating Widowmaker gave her, Sir. Sombra is mostly unharmed apart from a few bruises. She is actually kinda nice, if you don't insult her all the time. Or rip her gloves off and hurt her in the process, yes?" DVa cut in, giving her Russian colleague a meaningful look.

"Gloves?" Morrison sighed. "Someone care to explain that?"

" _Da._ I stripped the prisoner of all technology she had on herself. That included her gloves. The prisoner didn't want to give them to me, so I took them from her. I was unaware her gloves were connected to her nerve system. " Zarya said stoically, standing perfectly still.

"So, is she injured? Yes or no?" Morrison demanded.

"We aren't sure, Sir." DVa replied and the Commander had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. They had no professional medic with them. Of course they couldn't be sure if Sombra was seriously injured or not. It still annoyed him.

"Alright, I'll have Ziegler give her a check-up and a little rest and then prepped for interrogation. Since you seem to get along with her, that will be your responsibility, Ms. Song." He informed the youngest member of Overwatch.

"Uhh... Sir, I don't do interrogation. I wouldn't even know where to start, even if I wanted to do it." Hana said firmly.

"I can do that. Just tell me what you need to know." Widow said, her voice lacking emotion in a more than creepy manner.

"NO!" DVa almost screamed, much to everyone surprise. She had almost jumped up from her seat and slammed both hands on the table. Noticing all eyes were on her, Hana's face turned pink and she immediately sat back down again, her hair falling into her face without her wiping it away. She was awkwardly hiding behind it.

"It would only take a few moments." Widowmaker stated with an uncaring shrug.

"As much as I do not like unjustified interruptions," Morrison glanced at Hana, who muttered a very quiet _sorry,_ "I do have to agree with Ms. Song. Thank you for the offer Widowmaker, but we do have our own specialists for that." He said, now turning his full attention to DVa "As for you, Miss Song, I wanted you to oversee Sombra's time here. Not conduct the interrogation. You are responsible for her."

"U-understood, Sir." She replied, nervously playing with her fingers.

"Good. Anything else?" Morrison glanced into the group of his agents.

No one spoke up.

"Alright. Then you are dismissed." Morrison said and watched as the three agents who sat down got up and turned to leave. Widowmaker, however, didn't seem inclined to move even an inch, fully intent on staying where she was.

"See you later, luv?" Lena asked at the door and Amélie gave her an ever so faint smile and an equally unnoticeable nod.

" _Oui._ " She replied for only Lena to hear, which caused Tracer to grin.

"Widowmaker still has business to discuss with me. I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't keep her distracted, Agent Oxton. You are dismissed."

"Uh, yes, boss. Didn't mean to." Tracer replied and closed the door behind her. The second she did, the glass got opaque, obstruction the view into the command center. It hadn't done that before.

"Any complications with Director Volskaya?" Morrison wanted to know, cutting straight to the chase. He knew that Widow wasn't one for small talk or beating around the bush and neither was he. They had business to talk about and nothing else.

"She is dead." Widowmaker stated with an eerie air of indifference around her. They were talking about the death of a human being, yet it sounded like they were discussing the weather. "Clean kill, her and her lover boy. It will look like murder suicide."

The Commander nodded in understanding. He hadn't really expected anything else. "Are you sure no one will suspect anything?"

" _Oui._ I did that dozens of times. It always worked. There are no witnesses, the police will think it was exactly what we want them to believe. The suicide note you provided me with will really help. Given that her handwriting is flawless in the fake, there won't be a doubt."

"The fake is perfect. Good job, Widowmaker. I have to say, I am impressed."

"I'm not." Amélie snorted with a shrug.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, _I'm not impressed_. You told me Volskaya had ties to Talon. That she double crossed you?" Widow asked, crossing her hands over her chest in a defiant manner.

Morrison nodded, interested where Widowmaker was going. "That's the intel Reaper passed along to me. He is usually right about these things."

"Not this time." Amélie stated firmly. "Volskaya had no idea why I was there. She didn't expect Talon at all."

Morrison blinked. "What makes you so sure?"

"Oh please. I know when people lie. And I know that they usually tell the truth when they are about to die." She said easily. She had heard many last words, more than she cared counting for. Most of them were nothing but the hard, cold truth.

An annoyed groan escaped Morrison's throat and he rubbed over his face with his palm. "If you suspected she hadn't contacted Talon, why did you kill her?"

"Because, _Commander,_ " Widow pronounced his title in such a mocking manner that Morrison actually felt a bit insulted. "You need to understand that once you point the finger at someone and say _kill_ I will do that. No matter what, it will always happen." She hissed, not willing to explain _why_ there was no other outcome to this scenario. "I do not change the objective, I do not make last minute adjustments, I will not get back to you and tell you about tiny details to make you reconsider. All I do is removing the target you gave me. No exceptions. If you send me to someone, you better be absolutely, one hundred percent sure that someone is guilty. Because when I come back, that person will be dead. That was our deal. I agreed to help you bring Talon down by killing whomever you need dead. I didn't agree to be your personal detective. You do that work. I just carry out the final blow." Widowmaker hissed, leaning onto the table and staring the Commander down. "I won't get involved beyond that point."

"That could be a problem." Morrison sighed.

"Your problem. Not mine." Widowmaker turned to the door and was about to leave, when she stopped. "Oh, and if I were you, I'd talk to Reaper and find out where that information of his came from. Because from what I remember thanks to dear Angela's therapy, Talon flushes out traitors with intel-baits like these. Just so you know. And now I'm gone, you know where I am should you need me the next time around. And be sure who you send me to, then. _Au revoir._ " Widow waved and was gone.

The door clicked shut and Morrison had no way of seeing how badly Amélie started shaking once outside. She needed a moment to calm herself, pressing her hands together tightly to force them to stop shaking. A soldier walking past made the mistake to stare for a moment longer than Widowmaker liked, so she shot him one of her nastiest glares, one that clearly said _fuck off or die_. He got the message and hurried along.

Widowmaker groaned, she felt sick.

How was she going to explain this to Lena?

What had she done?

What should she have done?

She shouldn't have killed Volskaya. But it had been her assignment. Her job. She had to. Morrison didn't get it. She had to do it. He didn't understand. He gave her the job. She _had_ to do it. Never disobey an assignment. Never change it. Do what you are told.

Widowmaker bit her lip hard enough to taste the familiar metallic taste of blood in her mouth.

Fuck, what was she going to do?

-/-

**Office of Commander Jack Morrison, Watchpoint: Gibraltar, next day**

The moment he entered his office Morrison went straight for his phone and slammed a number into the device. He had dialed it so often in the past that this particular combination of numbers would have been more than eligible for a quick-dial button, but the Commander didn't want to risk someone accidentally pressing the button. Not that anyone apart from him would ever be in this office when he wasn't around. But better safe than sorry.

Pressing the phone to his ear with his shoulder he sat down in his office chair, opening the bottom drawer of his desk. The dial tone was still beeping into his ear as he took a bottle of whisky out of the drawer and poured himself a generous glass. Internally he cursed Tracer for this particular habit, despite knowing full well that it was hardly her fault. He took a swig from the glass, before a clicking sound and a grumpy voice on in the phone made him put the glass back down.

"Finally I get a hold of you." Morrison said hoarsely, the liquor burning down his throat.

There was a deep snort of annoyance on the other end. "You must mistake me for someone without work." Reaper replied. He must have rolled his eyes behind his mask, his voice betrayed that much.

Morrison was slowly starting to get tired of Gabe's antics. "No, I apparently mistook you for someone who takes his responsibilities somewhat seriously." He snapped. "I just wanted to give you an update. We have Sombra, all according to plan. A team is already interrogating her."

"Good. Go straight for the big boss, we are rapidly running out of time. There is something going on and whatever it is, it will be bad. And it will happen soon."

"You don't need to tell me how to do my job, Reyes. I know we have little time." He sighed and, without really knowing why, added: "Say, am I the only one who thinks it's strange that Talon seemingly picks their speed up with the upcoming elections?"

There was a snort on the other end of the line "Are they really?" Reyes asked, forcing his old brother in arms to think again. "We are stressing out, Morrison. And even if they are, it doesn't matter we have our deadlines. There are a lot of reasons that Talon could be speeding things up. Maybe that Savant guy is on their payroll? His politics would be aggressive enough. But I am speculating. We can check that later, it's not our priority right now. I don't need to remind you that there are more important things to do. Like, you know, beating the bosses’ identity out of Sombra." Reaper growls.

"We are working on it." Morrison said firmly, clutching the glass of whisky in his hands.

"Yeah, work faster."

"You say that. As you can imagine, to our shocking surprise she is not exactly _cooperating_." Jack rolled his eyes this time. Sometimes he wondered what his friend thought that they were doing at the Watchpoint. He sure as hell made it sound like it was all one big vacation.

"We were expecting that. You aren't losing your touch, are you?"

"Don't worry about it. She will talk eventually. What's another few days at this point."

"Possibly game-breaking, but whatever." Reaper grumbled. "In the meantime, I have been checking some older Talon Project. Especially our Biotech Division. The talk we had with Royce got me to that idea, you remember what I mean?"

"The moment you just ran off and left me hanging there? How could I forget. Great friend you are."

"You'll get over it. Thing is, Talon had a brilliant scientist working for them. She was a little bit like your stupid angel, just not so annoying. Actually got shit done. Her name was Moira O’Deorain. After she had fixed me up as good as she could she had been re-assigned. That alone is not the interesting part.  The project she had been assigned to, however, is."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Morrison asked, not in the mood to listen to Reaper rambling on about history.

"Well, it had to do with the alteration of cloned DNA. We are talking about the parts that make us look the way we do. Like how our faces are shaped, how tall we are, our body type, eye color. Do you need me to continue why this could be relevant information to us?"

"No. What did you find out?" Morrison asks, taking another swig from the whisky.

"Apart from the fact that it was important enough that it almost ruined Talon's finances? Now who could be important enough to start an absurdly expensive gene-therapy program obviously set to change someone's looks?"

"Bossman?"

"It would be the obvious choice. We already suspected our mole from Overwatch might be the boss from Talon. If that is true, we have won."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves just yet. We don't have anything to work with." Morrison said, not allowing himself to get his hopes up.

"Wrong. I know where the project was based." Reaper paused. "And it was right under our noses the entire time. I overlooked it the first time. But if you go to Ecopoint: Antarctica, you will find a secret basement. A gene-lab will be inside."

"Antarctica?" Morrison gasps.

"Precisely. And guess who is listed as a lab assistant? Let me answer that for you. Mei-Ling Zhou."

"Oh. She was the only survivor... of course she was. Good thing we took her out of the picture already." Morrison sighed. "I'll look into that lab thing." He said with a smile. It would seem that they were finally making some progress.

"You do that. But don't forget Sombra, we don't know if we find anything at the lab."

"You don't worry about that, I got it covered." Jack said. "Oh, there is something else I wanted to ask you."

"I'm tight on time, Morrison, make it fast. Gerda has been in my hair about whatever stuff she needs my attention for." Gabriel grumbled, trying to sound annoyed, but failing. Jack heard the badly hidden nuances in his old friend's voice but chose to say nothing about it. It wasn't his place.

"You told me you learned about Volskaya's deal with Talon through some protocols your maid-"

"She is not my maid, idiot." Reaper grunted.

"No? Well, whatever she is then." Morrison said before quickly continuing. "Anyway, she gave you the contracts Talon has with Volskaya and some extra protocols from their interactions, right?"

"Yeah? What about it?"

"Can you be certain that those were legit?" The commander asked, resting his elbows on his desk and staring into the dark brown liquid in the glass next to him.

"Why wouldn't they be legit? What are you talking about?"

"Well, I just talked to Widowmaker about her job. She killed Volskaya as instructed, but she insists that our dear director had no idea about any deal with Talon, that she didn't even know why Talon would be there."

"What are you talking about, where else would-" Reaper paused mid sentence, a less then welcome idea forcing it's way forward from the back of his head. "Shit." He uttered.

"Shit is a good word." Morrison agreed. "Listen, are we sure your cover is still in place? Did you send a team out to collect Sombra?"

"Of course I did, you hold me for an idiot? I did everything to make it seem like I am actually working toward that goal. They didn't find anything of course, we weren't actually tipped off about Sombra's location. Now it makes so much sense why Volskaya would make a deal with us but wouldn't send us a location to meet at. They never _had_ a location in the first place. I always assumed we would be told last minute."

"And you notice that is a little strange _now?_ Where is your head these days, brother?"

"It's not like I suspected it might be a test. Gotta go Morrison. Thanks for the heads up, but I'll need to lay low for a while and make sure my cover is undamaged. Are you all set on your end?"

"We are. Reyes, you could always pull out now, no one would think less of you. Royce certainly wouldn't. And neither would I, the risk was always high, but it just tripled."

"No. I will see this through till the end. I can still be useful."

And with that the connection terminated. Morrison sighed deeply, a wave of worry overcoming him for his best friend’s wellbeing. That stubborn son of a bitch would one day get himself killed. But Morrison had no way of stopping him. He could only hope that this day would be in the far distant future and not one of these days.

He jugged down the rest of his whisky.

-/-

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Alrighty boys and girls, here we go for this chapter!
> 
> I know it was a little shorter than usual, but I am currently also writing (or not writing as much as I should tbh) term papers for this semester and I am a bit short on time.
> 
> Don't tell Amélie, she'll just be angry with me.
> 
> "Don't tell me what, hm?"
> 
> -nothing, nothing. I just said you always look out for me.
> 
> "Pff, if you get into trouble, I get into trouble, too."
> 
> -And here I thought you might actually like me.
> 
> "What gave you that idea? And it's not like anyone else would keep an eye on you."
> 
> And she is gone. Tsundere much? Oh well.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left Favs, follows and Reviews! You guys rock and I love you. Really, I do. The amount of feedback I am getting for this is blowing me away!
> 
> Special thanks, obviously, go to my Beta Jfb715! Thank you so much for correcting my crap!
> 
> AND OF COURSE: A super special thanks to  my first tippers!
> 
> -Biscuit (who tipped twice, holy shit)
> 
> -Mary-Ann
> 
> -Hans (What a nickname. Get ze Flammenwerfer? :P)
> 
> Should you want to tip, you can! You know, for that nice coffee.
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction
> 
> have a good one you lot!
> 
>  
> 
> o7
> 
> E82


	41. Secrets to keep, to share and to hide.

**Watchpoint Gibraltar, infirmary, early morning**

The door into the kingdom of Dr. Angela Ziegler burst open and storming inside came none other than the former Talon master assassin, wearing an expression void of any emotion. Her keen yellow eyes searched the room for any signs of the blonde woman in charge but found no sign of her anywhere to be found.

An annoyed snort escaped Widowmaker and she was about to turn back and go to Lena's quarters. Obviously without talking to Angela about the possibility to start removing more of the chips implanted into Amélie's brain. A procedure the Swiss doctor had still been reluctant to do for safety reasons. But Widow was done waiting.

That, and she had hoped that she could offer Lena something to show that she was indeed trying to change, despite her fear of having her body tampered with. Rationally Amélie knew that it was an idiotic fear to have. Angela was only there to help her and each and every time the Swiss doctor had done something on Amélie's body the results were great. Be that her increased appetite, the removed numbness and new found sensitivity of her skin, or the best feat up until now: The fact that Mercy had managed to give Amélie some of her stronger emotions back. Her emotional sensitivity was still comparable to that of an angry mountain-troll, but at least she was able to feel  _something_ again. Something being more than utter devotion to Lena and the overwhelming urge to kill anyone who dared to mess with her girlfriend. One could say that Widow's ice cold demeanor was slowly starting to thaw. A little. She could actually be something one might almost mistake for niceness from time to time. Amélie also noticed that she started not being completely indifferent about a few people beyond Lena and Mercy. Torbjörn seemed to be an alright guy and Fareeha was also not too bad, despite finding out about Lena and Amélie's secret. Of course there was also Zenyatta, who had helped Widow a great deal, so he was also on her good side. The more she thought about it, the more Amélie noticed that she started to give a shit.

Widow wasn't too sure if she liked that yet.

And it didn't solve her problem.

"Are you looking for someone?" a voice asked and Amélie turned her attention to the back of the infirmary. Pharah was just returning to the room, from where, Widow could only guess. Judging from the way the soldier tried not to fall on her face in a most disgraceful way, she couldn't have been far. The toilet was probably the most likely explanation, so there was no need for any questions.

Amélie's eyebrow twitched as she caught herself walking over to Fareeha and offering her a hand of support. Something the old Widowmaker would have never done. The new Widow couldn't stand the idea of watching how a once proud warrior tried to not fall to her feet. Despite her impressive progress, it was still degrading for Pharah.

An unreadable smile flashed over Fareeha's face when she accepted the helping and the close proximity to Widowmaker felt, admittedly, really weird. Her skin was cold as a corpse and even though they were only walking together, Fareeha could feel Widow's strength. It was just so obvious, the way how Amélie didn't struggle for even a moment when Pharah leaned on her arm to not stumble and fall.

"So?" Fareeha asked, still hoping for an answer as to why Widowmaker was in the infirmary. Not that she minded the company.

"What?" A moment of confusion passed before Widow remembered that Pharah had asked her a question."Oh. Looking for someone?  _Oui._ I was hoping the Doctor would be in."

Fareeha formed a silent  _ah._ Of course Widowmaker would be searching for Mercy, it was obvious really. "Sorry, Angela is checking on our new friend. You know, the one you guys brought back from Russia." She replied with a shrug as Amélie helped her sit down on what became Pharah's bed in the last few months.

"Ah, Sombrero?" Widow shrugged. "Probably a good idea to check her face."

" _What?_ " Fareeha choked, not sure that she had actually heard what she thought she did.

"What?" Amélie smirked, trying to seem confident. She wasn't. She hadn't meant to let Sombra's old nickname slip. She didn't even know where it came from.

"Did you just say  _Sombrero?_ Did you just crack a joke?" a flabbergasted Pharah asked in utter disbelief.

"Don't be ridiculous, I must have misspoken." Widow quickly replied, mustering her trademark smirk. Pharah just gave her a pointed look and a perked up eyebrow. A moment of tense silence passed between the two women before Amélie only huffed and uttered: "You have no evidence."

As a reply Fareeha could only roll her eyes as she settled into the bed. There was no point in replying. Still, a little fun would have been a nice change. Despite the fact that she had been to London with Mercy only recently, Fareeha was already sick of being stuck in the infirmary again.

Hated it even.

She wanted to be able to walk again like a normal person. Like she used to. Not like some cripple who could only walk when she leaned against a wall or when someone was there to support her. It was humiliating. The only advantage of this place was the proximity to the doctor. Which in itself was both torture and heaven.

"Anyway, I need to get going, there is something I have to take care of." Widow said and was about to leave, the doctor wasn't here after all and as much as she enjoyed her short exchanges with Pharah, the Egyptian couldn't help her.

"Oh, trouble in paradise?" Fareeha asked with a teasing smile, completely oblivious to how close to the truth she had just struck. The death glare she received was a great indicator, though.

"None of your business." Widow snapped, narrowing her eyes. There were a few topics, where Amélie made it obvious that she had no inclination to ever discuss them. Ever. Ok, there might have been more than a few topics. A lot of topics, actually. But either way, it was usually a wise choice to never come up with those particular issues again.

Fareeha's head recoiled a little at the harsh rebuke. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that..." Pharah said quickly, raising her hands in defense. However, there was an opportunity here, a chance to speak to Amélie in private and since the topic already kind of came up, Pharah could just as well utilize that. There was a fifty-fifty chance of completely destroying the fragile bud of friendship the two women managed to somehow allow and grow between them, but Fareeha decided it would be worth it. Best case scenario, they would lay some important groundwork for their friendship and Pharah would get some answers. So, the soldier summoned all her courage and continued. "I just asked because... well, since I know you and Lena are a thing..."

"Something you  _will_ forget immediately. And never speak of it again." Widow hissed, narrowing her eyes to her trademark death-glare, but Fareeha just shook her head. Slowly, like she was disappointed. Tracer and Widow had what they wanted and Fareeha would lie if she said she wasn't a little jealous. So why hide it? What was the big deal? It was so stupid. She just didn't get it.

Amélie didn't like the look on Fareeha's face for even a moment.

"Seriously, what is it with you two and your  _idiotic_  secrecy?" Pharah asked, definitely not in a calm manner. The mere idea of keeping a relationship a secret didn't sit well with her. Not at all and for reasons she had experienced firsthand. Ana and Rein had to keep it a secret. As a result, she had grown up without a father. "I don't know why you are so uncomfortable about all this. What's bothering you so much that you don't want anyone to know you two are in love?" She asked and was surprised by Widow's rather expressive look on her face. "Don't give me that face. Anyone with a working eye can see how much you care for each other. You should be happy to have her. It's not like you need to be ashamed because of your girlfriend or something." Pharah stated firmly. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, mentally scolding herself for that outburst. It wasn't where she wanted to go, just a bitter bug she had to spit out. "But it's none of my business, I know." She added with a shrug, failing to notice how Amélie fell silent, the shocked expression changing to a somber nothingness. Like something truly important, something ground-breaking, something she would have never thought about herself suddenly clicked into place and made perfect sense. Just not in a good way.  _Ashamed of your girlfriend._ The phrase echoed in her mind over and over again.

Pharah missed Widow swallow heavily as she continued. "Still... I was hoping you could answer a question for me. Since you are in a relationship with another woman and all. How did you... you know?" Fareeha asked, a prominent red color burning on her cheeks despite her dark color.

"Know what?" Widow asked, disgusted how small and pathetic her voice sounded in her own ears. She wouldn't let someone else see her in such a weak moment. It was unacceptable.

"Hey, are you alright?" Pharah asked carefully, but Widowmaker only snorted.

"Don't be ridiculous." She said, relieved that her usual haughty voice was back the way she wanted it. "Now, what should I know?" Amélie asked with an expertly placed teasing smirk while she leaned forward a little. Her mind was still racing, but she had no intention of letting that show again.

"Uh, don't be like that!"

"Like what exactly? If you'd just ask a proper question, I might answer."

"Fine!" Pharah pressed out. "How did you know, that you liked Lena in...  _that_  way and that she did, too?" There. She said it. Suddenly the soldier seemed to have taken an interest in her fingernails, which she was clicking together.

"Oh." Widow said, staying silent for a very long, very uncomfortable moment. A wave of very fond memories overcame her, and she started smiling the warmest, most adorable smile Fareeha had ever seen and obviously not just on Widowmaker. No one had seen her smile apart from an icy, calculating and scarily predatory smirk which usually screamed  _I got you now_.

Before Amélie knew what was happening she had already started talking. So much for her resolve. "Well, it started when I noticed that she was the only person I hesitated to kill. We had a weird back and forth whenever we met in combat. A very specific kind of dynamic, fighting felt like friendly banter. I enjoyed that, I think, no one could come out the clear winner, no one could keep the upper hand. It was like a wild dance we only shared with each other and I remember being content with that. Back then I had never even thought about the possibility of her and me being anything more than we were. Then I was wounded during a mission and walked into Lena by chance. She saved my life. That was the turning point in a way. I realized there could be something. Lena gave me a glimpse at what I could have, and I wanted more. A few days later she found me watching her." Widowmaker smiled fondly at the memory, not noticing that her French accent became a lot more prominent as she spoke. "Told me that I should just ask her out. Before I knew it, I was kissing her. I guess after that there was never really a doubt in my mind that I wanted her  _in that way_ as you put it. She lights up my life. Without her there would only be darkness. That's how I knew." She suddenly cleared her throat, as if she woke up from a daydream.

"Wow." Was the only thing Pharah could come up with. What else could she say? She hadn't expected that Amélie would share such a deep insight into her personal life.

"I don't really see why this is important to you, so do elaborate." Amélie's dreamy expression quickly faded as she set her sights on Pharah once more. "And I swear if you ever share this, it will be the last thing you do." She added sternly.

Pharah quickly shook her head "I won't tell anyone, you don't have to worry about that. Never been one for gossiping."

Another moment of silence passed.

"I am waiting." Amélie said narrowing her eyes. "Why is this important to you?"

"Oh... you see, I was asking because..." Fareeha trailed off for a moment, internally debating if she should really just spill the beans. Considering that she was a horrible liar and that Widow would probably not take kindly to being lied to, Pharah decided the truth was the way to go. Besides, she was a proud and daring soldier, she wouldn't simply cower now. "I like Dr. Ziegler, ok? In  _that way._ I think. I'm pretty sure I do. But I don't have any idea what I should do and I was hoping, well..."

Amélie had to concentrate to stop herself from starting to laugh in a very cruel manner. She was almost proud that a short snort was all that escaped her. "You aren't seriously asking me for love-advice, are you?"

"Well, I don't know who else to ask. Tracer would only try and play the matchmaker. You are professional, level headed and a little icy. We have that in common, so I thought maybe you could help." Fareeha didn't back down. She would see this through, now that she started it.

Amélie raised an eyebrow at  _a little_ icy but didn't comment on it. For a second Widow actually contemplated to tell Pharah where to stick it. But for some reason that didn't feel right to her. Still, Amélie had no idea what to tell Fareeha. Only one thing really came to mind.

"Listen, I am literally the worst person on this planet to ask for advice on this topic, because I have no idea myself. But if you like Angela, why don't you just tell her? You are both adult women and I am sure you can behave the part. A word of warning though: Angela said a couple of times that she is straight. I wouldn't get my hopes up."

Fareeha's face fell.

"But still talk to her. Communicating is important. God gave you a mouth, so use it. Life is too short for regrets." Amélie said and felt her stomach turn as she spoke those words. She was a hypocrite for saying this. "I need to leave now." She stated quickly and had already fled before Pharah could reply.

Widowmaker rushed out of the door in much a similar way that she had came in. Running, as it seemed, away from something. She didn't know how to tell Lena.

She didn't know where to start.

Each step she took toward Tracer's quarters made her more nervous. More afraid.

Her hand felt heavy when she finally knocked on the orange door. For what felt like years nothing happened before the orange obstacle moved out of the way.

Big brown eyes full of love looked at her with a goofy smile on her lips.

What was Amélie supposed to do? She felt so guilty.

Before Lena could even greet her, Amélie had already pounced on her.

-/-

* * *

 

**Watchpoint Gibraltar, two days later, 0912 hours, private quarters of Lena Oxton.**

They hadn't left this room for god knows how long. And all the time they had been doing exactly the same thing.

Not that Lena was in any way inclined to complain, after all, the sex with Amélie had been mind-blowingly good. Still, she couldn't help but think it might have been a mistake. That she made the wrong call, that she should have decided differently before. When there had been a knock on her door and she opened it without a thought. The surprisingly enthusiastic greeting she had gotten when Amélie came by two days prior had been fun, at least at first. Amélie had pushed them inside and kicked the door shut before she had pressed the pilot against the wall, kissing her roughly and with hunger. Widowmaker had been all over her lover, eagerly demanding more.

And that had been the point where Lena was now wondering if she should have put a stop to it all. If she should have taken a moment to consider the situation and decide differently.

But she hadn't. She had been taken by surprise, hadn't even moved at first, frozen in place and overwhelmed by the sensation of her lover's demanding caress. Tracer had no idea what was happening to her, before she had already, out of pure instinct, kissed Amélie back. Tongues had been fighting each other in sloppy, wet kisses and faster than ever before Amélie's hands had been undressing her girlfriend, the woman she loved so much it scared her. There had been so much need in Amélie's eyes, in her touch. Such desperation and urgency, like she was afraid it would be the last time they got to spend time together like this. It was almost like Widowmaker had been certain about that.

Tracer had experienced the various articles of clothing coming off in a state of dreaminess, she had been so lost in the sensation of Amélie ravaging her mouth, absolutely dominating her in a way she usually never did, while stripping her naked. It hadn't been until Lena felt Widow's cool hands sliding up her toned stomach when she had finally realized that she needed to put an end to this.

Lena had noticed sooner that something wasn't right and yet she still hadn't had the willpower to stop it sooner. When she should have tried to find out what was going on, she had instead not done anything. At least not really. All she had done in that moment was to put her hands on Amélie's shoulders and tenderly pushed her off. Gently, carefully, but with determination. Lena had meant to ask if this was a good idea, but she hadn't done it.

The look in Amélie's eyes had felt like a punch to the guts. Her eyes had been glazed over from almost spilled tears. Shame. Hurt. Loathing. All those emotions had played so clearly on Amélie's face it still gave Tracer a chilly feeling even now that she was thinking back. It was so obvious all of a sudden and Lena wondered how she didn't see it sooner. The whole air of dominance had vanished in an instant, replaced with desperation. Amélie hadn't even been able look her in the eyes, Lena had to lift her chin up and toward her with her finger.

"Luv, what's wrong?" Lena had whispered, reaching up to now cup her lover's face gently into both of her hands. "What happened?"

Amélie had squeezed her eyes shut for a second and only shook her head. "P-Please" she had pleaded, her voice bitter and pained. "Not now... I... need this. Now. Please." She had all but whispered.

And that had been the point where Lena now, looking back, wondered if she might have made a mistake. Because no matter how hard the decision had been in that moment, she had felt like she had only one option. Of course, Lena had been pondering the decision, she knew a part of her did feel like she should ask further questions and figure out what had been going on and then do something about it, but she also knew that this hadn't been what Amélie wanted in that moment.

Tracer had been afraid that it would be a stupid mistake. It had been so obvious that Widow needed comfort from whatever it was causing her such distress and even now Lena rationalized that it hadn't been the first time they had been down this road. But usually Amélie told Lena what had been bothering her before they got physical. But not this time. This time Lena had only asked a weak "You sure?"

" _Oui._ " Had been the barely audible answer. Lena had no idea if she had made the right call. But Amélie had never seemed more thankful then in this moment when Lena had leaned into her and captured her lips with her own, initiating another rough, hard kiss.

Maybe they should have done the talking first. For the last couple of days, Lena and Widowmaker didn't leave the bed. Which in itself was fun, but also kind of worrisome. Right now, they were both having a small break, cuddling. Reaching for her lover's hand as to say that everything was alright, they exchanged a small glance at each other, before Amélie quickly looked away again. It was almost as if Widow was afraid that looking too long at Tracer would reveal her thoughts to the Brit. Not that Tracer would have minded one bit to find out about them. She could only guess. Yet Lena would have been surprised to find out that Amélie's thoughts were almost at the same place as hers.

When Widow had come back from Morrison that day, she had been so scared that the one person who made her life worth living would go away if she told her what she had done to Katya Volskaya. She was so afraid Lena wouldn't approve. In fact, she knew that Tracer wouldn't approve. She had no reason to.

The last argument they had back in London left Widow so vulnerable and raw, despite Lena's best efforts to comfort her. Amélie had been scared of another fight between them, scared of where it might lead them. Scared that she might be forced to reveal her secret deal with the UN-General Secretary.

Widow wanted nothing more than to be open and upfront with Lena about these things, but she couldn't. As much as she wanted to, she could not. Which meant she couldn't tell her that killing Volskaya had a reason beyond Morrison's orders. She couldn't tell her  _why_  he gave those order. She couldn't tell her  _why_  she was taking his orders in the first place now. The fact that it now seemed like killing Volskaya would have been avoidable and might not have been necessary in the end didn't make it easier at all. It just added another thing to the long list of problems Widow couldn't tell Lena about. Why had she obeyed her orders even if she knew they were wrong? It didn't make anything easier.

_Just use your mouth and talk to her._ Oh, what a hypocrite she was, indeed.

All Amélie  _could_  tell Lena was, that she did it again. That she killed. And that she  _loved_ the feeling. Despite knowing it wasn't right. Despite being sure that Katya didn't do what Morrison thought she did. Widowmaker still enjoyed the kill. The thrill. The rush. She loved it. It scared her. It ate away at her insides. But part of her wanted to do it again.

She had planned to tell Lena at least that. But when she had opened the door, Amélie couldn't. She had needed Lena in that moment, feel her, smell her, taste her, even if it would be for the last time.

She had decided to tell her afterward. Just one last time together.

What happens then would be left to see. But Amélie quickly noticed that she was not only a hypocrite, but also an exceptional coward when it came to this particular problem.

She couldn't do it.

She couldn't take her own stupid advice and talk to the woman she loved so much. She couldn't tell Tracer. Instead Amélie kept Lena busy until they both collapsed from exhaustion and then some more. And again a while later and again in the morning. Was it healthy? God no it wasn't. But it was all Amélie could even think of, all she could do.

All that mattered to Widow was the moaning of the woman underneath her, pulling on her shoulders and scratching her back. They had been rolling around in Lena's small bed and Widowmaker took the opportunity to plant another series of hard kisses down her lover's neck and toward her right breast. Lena was already bruised and scratched, she looked like she had been mauled by a bear, but Amélie didn't care. She needed to leave marks. Needed to leave something behind, not just the fleeting heat of the moment or the ebbing wave of excitement she provided when her mouth dove in between Lena's legs.

-/-

* * *

 

**Watchpoint: Gibraltar, Prison block, late evening.**

If there would have ever been a contest for the least used room at Watchpoint Gibraltar, this one would have won by miles. No one ever came here, no one ever used it. Most didn't even know it existed in the first place.

But it did.

The Watchpoint had its own interrogation room. Which hadn't been used in forever. So long in fact that what little furniture the small room was equipped with had been covered with white sheets many years ago. Otherwise the dust would have covered the table and chairs by inches.

It had mattered little to Reinhardt, when he yanked the fabric off the metal table and seats, both bolted to the sterile white ground. A huge cloud of dust had whirled up, but again, Reinhardt hadn't cared at all, as he tossed the sheets to the side. This wasn't supposed to be comfortable. A little dust never killed anyone. Even those who were allergic to it. Not that he was or cared if Sombra was.

He had waited for Zarya to sit their new guest down and secure her to her place.

How long ago was that?

Reinhardt had no idea anymore. Could have been hours. Could have been days. The room had no windows, just the same bright, artificial light. There was no clock either. It you lose your feeling of time in a matter of hours.

All Rein knew for sure was, that they had been at it for too long. Which would have been tolerable, if he only had anything to show for all the spent time. But he hadn't. No matter how much time had passed, they had gotten exactly nowhere. So far Sombra had told them nothing they would have been interested in. Instead she was taunting them, winding them up, baiting them with information which turned out to be utterly useless in the end and generally trying to steal as much time from them as she could. It was slowly starting to unnerve Reinhardt. Let alone Zarya, who was physically restraining herself from punching a cuffed Sombra across her head. The weightlifter had her hands firmly behind her back, refusing to put them anywhere else.

"Miss Colomar, we can do this all day long if you want." Reinhardt sighed, audibly pissed off. "You don't want to share your knowledge about Talon's boss. Ok, I get it. Let's try something else, alright? Maybe you can shed some light into another problem. Do you know who is responsible for the death of Åke Väinö? You remember him, don't you?" Reinhardt tried his hardest to keep friendly. Though he knew that he would not be able to keep this act up forever. He wanted to punch Sombra so badly.

" _Si, si,_ I remember him. The Finnish guy who they say wrote the god-programs." She giggled provocatively at that statement. "You still believe he did that?"

"What I believe is of no importance. I want to know who is responsible for his death. Who killed him?"

"You know that just as well as I do, don't you? Not many people had access to him." Sombra shrugged, but Reinhardt kept his calm. He was extensively briefed by Commander Morrison on the matter at hand. Of course, he knew that the Commander didn't tell him everything, but that was alright. Reinhardt was a soldier bound by duty and honor. He didn't need to know what Morrison thought he didn't need to know. He was told enough to properly conduct this questioning. To what end, Reinhardt didn't have to know exactly. It was important, that was enough.

"Who is the traitor we had in Overwatch? Is it the same person who is now in charge of Talon, and finally, who is it? Who is pulling the strings in the background? Tell us and we are done here."

It was Zarya who now leaned over the desk and chose to remove her hands from behind her back and shove some folders with dossiers of different people toward Sombra. "We know that it has to be one of these people. We know because they are the only ones who had access to Väinö. Who is it?" she urged.

Sombra looked at the files and was impressed to realize that they indeed had the correct candidate on their list. Even though that person was marked K.I.A. "What if the person you are looking for is already dead?" she asked, wiggling her brows.

"Ah, so you know who it is then,  _ja_?" Reinhardt leaned forward.  _Finally. Progress._

"Maybe." Sombra shrugged.  _Or not._  "I will tell you who didn't do it." The hacker smirked and nodded at a dossier in the middle. She couldn't really point at the file since her hands were tied to her chair. "It wasn't your late wife, Mr. Wilhelm." Sombra enjoyed the flash of confusion across Reinhardt's face and chose to have some more fun. "Not that she is actually  _late._  Well, maybe late to the party and all, but other than that, she is actually pretty fine."

"What did you just say?" Rein muttered under his breath, dangerously low, his eyes zeroed in on Sombra.

"Ah, you see, she has been in a coma for a while. And that's all I'll tell you for free." She grinned at his expressionless face.

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

With an incredibly fast, precise and forceful move Reinhardt had grabbed Sombra at her collar and lifted her up in her chair as far as the restraints would allow him. Had he pulled any harder, he might just have ripped out Sombra's arms.

"Listen to me very closely." Reinhardt said with deadly calmness. "I will not fall for you games, Olivia. If you think you can wind me up with lies about my wife, you might be right. But ask yourself, do you want to get turned into  _Blutwurst_ by my bare hands? Because it will happen if you continue this." He narrowed his eyes, pleased to see that he could sense the waves of fear from Sombra. He had put the case of Ana Amari to rest. She was dead, and even if she wasn't, she was far away and obviously wanted nothing to do with him anymore. He would not allow an old, well healed scar to open up again after all those years. " _Klar soweit?_ "

Sombra swallowed hard. Her shoulders were on the point of being dislocated and there was not the least bit of doubt left in her mind that the German knight was absolutely serious about his threat. She should have kept her mouth shut. That attempt at manipulation backfired straight into her face, still, she would not give up so easily. If she showed weakness now, she would have lost.

Instead of answering, Sombra held Reinhardt's glare as good as she could. "This is the last time I will ask you: Who betrayed us? Who killed Åke Väinö and who is the head of Talon? Is it the same person and who is it? Spill it now if you know what's good for you."

"Empty threats don't suit you, old man." Sombra laughed haughtily but was quickly silenced when Rein tossed her into her chair, knocking the air out of her lungs.

"Empty? I don't know if you are really this tough or if you are just plain stupid, girl." Rein said with a seriously scary calmness. The way he spoke slowly and without haste, like he was explaining something to a little child, was astonishing. Sombra wasn't sure if she could ever make him lose his cool. Or if she wanted him to lose it. "No one knows you are here. No one knows you even exist. I can do whatever I want with you. And I have so much time..." he said, slowly sitting back down as to emphasize a point. The metal chair creaked under the weight of pure muscle.

Zarya was the one who smacked Sombra over her head. "I suggest answering the man. Because I am in no way inclined to stop him when his patience runs out. I'm surprised that he hasn't turned you into goo by now, to be honest."

"Oh, is that how you lost your eye? Got impatient?" Sombra asked, not knowing how close to the truth she actually was.

"Silence!" Zarya smacked Sombra again. "Answer the question. Is our traitor and Talon's boss the same person?"

"hmmm..." Sombra smiled "Maybe? Hell, what makes you think I'd know that."

"Because you do." Reinhardt replied calmly. Very calmly. Too calmly. "And you will tell me. Now."

"Oh, and why is that?" Sombra asked, an ever so slight flash of discomfort playing on her face for but an instant. It was easily missed, but definitely there.

Reinhardt rose from his chair again and leaned over the table, towering above it like a mountain in the middle of a giant wasteland. He looked truly horrifying. "Because, Miss Colomar, as my colleague so kindly said, I am coming to the end of my patience. Which means you either tell me now, or I make you wish you had started talking when you still had the chance."

Sombra swallowed, looking into Reinhardt's eyes. Or better eye. She was good at reading people. Social engineering had been one of her best disciplines. She knew how to manipulate, how to make people do what she wanted. It had always been fun. Part of the trick was to play your opponents weakness in the right way and use it against them. She had become a master of figuring out what those weaknesses were and how to use them. The problem was, Sombra had played her trump card against Reinhardt. She told him about his wife and he just shrugged it off and got on with the interrogation. She had no idea if he really didn't believe her, or if he was able to put that information to the side for now. Either way, one thing was painfully obvious. He meant  _business._ She had reached the point where she had the choice of feeding them a little bit of information or face bodily harm. Because one thing was certain, this was the point where Reinhardt would be done with pushing her around a little. He was  _serious._  And Sombra wasn't exactly fond of pain. She could do just fine without it. Twisted it might have been, but she was willing to endure some extent of pain to guard the secret, but deep down she knew that she would have to face worse soon anyway. Better not tap into her reserves too early. Because no matter what she told them now, she would never tell them who ran Talon. Never. She would sooner die.

Sighing, Sombra came to a decision. "It's the same person. Your traitor and the boss. One and the same on the inside." She said and felt an uncomfortable tuck in the back of her head, almost like the first stage of a very bad migraine. She shouldn't say anything more now.

"Who?" Zarya pressed on. "Who is it? Do the right thing and tell us, Colomar."

"No." Sombra shook her head and flinched visibly when Reinhardt slammed is fists onto the metal table. So hard in fact that he left imprints in the now deformed surface. She didn't even want to imagine how those fists would feel when they connected with bones. Sombra was sure he could break her arm just by squeezing it in his fist.

Just when Reinhardt was about to yell at Sombra, the door into the interrogation room opened and in walked a sight for sore eyes. A petite Asian whom Sombra hadn't seen in a while. A smile crossed her lips for but an instant.

"Don't you think it's enough for now?" DVa asked sternly, stemming her hands to her hips in a very bossy manner.

"We aren't done yet." Reinhardt stated, not regarding DVa at all.

"Hrmpf. Is that so, Rein?" she pressed, now getting his attention. "I need to talk to you two." Hana said, stepping outside the interrogation room.

"Don't go anywhere." Zarya said to Sombra, as she walked past her and out of the room, quickly followed by Rein. His warning glare was not comforting the hacker at all.

Then the room was silent, apart from Sombra's breathing. She couldn't believe that she actually heard her own breath, but apparently that was no problem. Or maybe the serious lack of sleep was slowly getting to her. Only now, in that short moment of peace did she realize how tired she truly was.

Outside the door in the hallway in front of the interrogation room, Hana glared at the two other Agents.

"What is it Hana? We really have to get this done with." Rein sighed.

"You have been at it for too long. The two of you didn't get it done for the last 36 hours, what are a few hours more at this point? Take some rest. Eat something and get some sleep. It's not like we are on a schedule."

"Actually, we are. Morrison wants results."

"Yes, and I highly doubt he wants them beaten out of her. You go take care of yourselves and come back to it once you calmed down. I will bring our guest back to her cell."

"Hana, we can't-" Zarya started, but was interrupted by DVa.

"Nope. Don't make me go to Commander Morrison, because I will. And I will complain so long that he orders you to take a break."

"You are too bossy for your age." Reinhardt grumbled.

"I have five no-good older brothers, who never got anything done in life. Of course I am bossy. Someone had to motivate them." Hana shrugged.

Reinhardt laughed at that "Alright, alright. We'll take a break. You can handle her?"

"I think I can bring her back the few steps to her cell. Consider it done." Hana said with a nod and turned back toward the interrogation room. Making sure that Zarya and Rein were really going, she slipped into the room.

"Alright, that's it for now. I'll take you back to your cell so you can rest, ok?"

"You have fire,  _chica._ I like it." Sombra smiled as Hana uncuffed the hacker from her chair.

"How would you know?" Hana challenged, helping Sombra to her feet. The hacker paused and smirked in a way that DVa didn't like for a second.

"Seen it in your eyes." Sombra said with a wink.

Feeling the crimson color spread over her cheeks, Hana pulled Sombra along and out of the interrogation room. "You are horrible." She uttered, not at all happy when the hacker laughed happily. Not in a mocking way. Not in an evil way. It was a warm laugh.

Reaching Sombra's small cell, Hana nodded to the guard to open it up and escorted her inside. Once inside she took the Latina's handcuffs off and tucked them away in the pocket of her pants.

"So... do you need anything?" she asked, feeling a tiny bit awkward under Sombra's questioning gaze. The hacker had such beautiful eyes, Hana noticed and immediately wondered why the hell her brain chose to inform her about this fact  _now_ of all the times. It didn't help her blush to go away, not even a little.

" _Gracias,_ but I think I have everything. Well, at least everything I'm allowed."

"Sorry about that... The gloves and all." Hana said and looked away.

"Eh, you'd be lousy at the whole prisoner thing if you let me keep them. I'll manage." Sombra said with a shrug, before turning her attention fully to Hana and poking her teasingly. "That is unless you want to help me  _manage._ "

It was cute to see Hana was able to turn even redder than before. "I-I... shouldn't. Bad idea. Yes. Very bad idea." She stuttered. "I'll swing by in a few hours and check on you. Yes." She nodded hectically, rushing out of the door, which slammed shut behind her. If only to open an instant later, with Hana poking her head through the door "Sorry. Good night. Bye." She said, this time closing the door in a silent, gentle manner.

Sombra couldn't help but smile at the Asian's antics. She was undeniably adorable.

It didn't make things easier.

-/-

* * *

 Tipeee link should you want to donate:

[klick!](https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction)

IT CAN BE KLICKED! clicked? qligged? Hell if I knew. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> "Are you writing again?"
> 
> -mhm
> 
> "Wondered why you didn't do that in a while."
> 
> -really?
> 
> "Non. I know why, don't worry. Your muse is back, I guess that's alright."
> 
> -it's not that, you know with University and all..
> 
> "bla bla bla, patate. You should know me better than that."
> 
> Alright ladies and gentleman, As you can see, I am not dead (yet). So you all get to enjoy a new chapter. Or at least, I hope you enjoy it. I am having difficulties getting back into writing and picking the story up where I left it and it bothers me and argh. But hey, here you all are with this piece. Also, there are two more chapters in the works, but I will promise nothing. No, no. They will arrive when they are done.
> 
> To the guest who wrote what felt like 2 million reviews demanding an argument between Widow and Tracer. Dude. Listen. A) I can tell that one and the same guy is writing more reviews with different names. B) why would you do that in the first place? Do you think I will change my plans for this story if enough people complain? I wouldn't be able to go anywhere if I did this. And I really don't mean this in a disrespectful way, I really hope you guys appreciate me sticking to the original plan of the story, otherwise it would all fall into chaos.
> 
> I'm mentioning this, because it had me re-think the next chapter for like four weeks until I decided to split it, lost motivation, didn't know where to go anymore or what to do and actually lost some (read: a lot of) sleep over the "this will either make or break the story" statement. Jup. Four weeks of self-doubt because of some guest. Took me a while to realize that it was completely stupid to worry about the rash critique of someone who doesn't even have an account to engage in an educated discussion with.
> 
> Soooo... yeah.
> 
> Critique appreciated, discussion preferred. Make yourself an account if you want. It's free. You can chat with me. You can leave a favorite and/or follow. Which will tell you when I update again. Which will happen faster if I don't drown in self-pity. Lots of advantages! You should do it.
> 
> Speaking of advantages:
> 
> You can still tip if you want to pay my next coffee. Or the Ferrari, lol.
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction
> 
> SPECIAL THANKS GOES TO MY TIPPERS SINCE THE LAST CHATPER:
> 
> -Nomville
> 
> -rawreverie
> 
> -DarthWhiskey
> 
> Thank you guys and girls! It's much appreciated!
> 
> Also, special thanks to my trusty beta minion Jfb715!
> 
> Since I talked waaay to much already, thanks to everyone else of course, I all love you to bits. Really do.
> 
> See you all in the next one
> 
> o7
> 
> E82
> 
> -/-
> 
>  
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Klar soweit = (German) Got that?


	42. Confessions and concessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Warning: chapter 42 has not been subjected to Beta-reading yet. Warning: Chapter 42 contains in all likelihood major spelling errors. Warning: Chapter 42 also contains grammatical errors. Be advised that chapter 42 contains errors in general. Warning: Chapter 42 contains lots of warnings. Chapter 42 has not been field tested. Chapter 42 is still a prototype. Do not attempt to read chapter 42 at high speeds or under high g-forces. Chapter 42 may spontaneously self ignite. Please don't try chapter 42 at home. Chapter 42 has been done by trained professionals in a safe environment.
> 
> I can't honestly think of any more bullshit now. You have been warned of chapter 42. With warnings. And even more warnings. Oh yes, please don't feed chapter 42.
> 
> There will be some additional notes at the bottom.
> 
> For now I hope you enjoy chapter 42, I certainly didn't.
> 
> -/-

 

**Watchpoint: Gibraltar, private quarters of Lena Oxton an hour later**

Lena and Amélie were leaning against the wall behind the bed, the blanket falling loosely over their naked hips. Usually they would cuddle now, relish the feeling of heir soft bodies caressing each other in a soft embrace, but not this time. They both sat next to each other like stunned teenagers after their very awkward first time. Their elbows were the only part of their bodies which sporadically touched the other.

Even though they were both adequately exhausted, Amélie finally decided it was time to spill the beans and face the consequences. She started feeling like a coward. Amélie despised cowards.

So, with some reluctance in the beginning, she started to talk about St. Petersburg. She spent at least half an hour telling her girlfriend what she had been doing while she had been on Morrison's extra assignment. Not that she had mentioned even a word about it being an assignment from Morrison or how most of what she did were her orders. Maybe she should have. Maybe it would have cleared things up more easily. But Widowmaker didn't. She felt her mouth moving on its own, while she herself was strangely disconnected to her own body, barely more than a spectator to the events.

Numbly Widow explained how she tracked down Katya Volskaya's male hooker, how she tricked him into opening the door for her and how she forced him to contact his employer under a made up pretense. The assassin didn't look at Lena as she went on, detailing every step along the way. She explained how they waited for Katya to arrive and how she proceeded to put them into a position suitable for her needs. It had been too easy.

At least the part where she had done it all had been.

The part where she had to tell Lena about it, not so much.

Amélie choked a little, not really wanting to go on, but left with no other choice. She would do this now, she would say it. She had to do it. There had been a time when disobeying an order would have been unthinkable. But for Lena...

"I killed her. Not only her, her little man whore too. It was textbook work, there is no way anyone would suspect a thing. It will look like murder suicide." Widow stated distantly, tired eyes staring dead ahead, not daring to meet Lena's. Amélie felt Tracer's gaze burn holes into her cold blue skin, she thought she could feel Lena's disappointment, her silent reproaches. Amélie was sure about that, she thought she knew exactly.

Lena stared at her girlfriend with wide eyes, feeling like a whole train filled with trucks filled with bricks just overran her at full speed. Her brain tried to come up with a plausible reason, but failed miserably. "Why?" she managed somehow, her throat feeling sore and bitter. She didn't understand. Why would Amélie just go off to murder Katya Volskaya? "Why would you do that?"

Tracer wasn't sure what hurt more. The revelation that Amélie killed someone again or the way she was opening and closing her mouth, obviously fighting with herself over an answer. She was lost.

For the first time in a very long time, Lena wasn't sure what she should do. Had all her trust and support been misplaced? She refused to believe this. There was no way she would have misjudged Widow's character  _this_ fundamentally. There had to be a valid, logic reason to it. No matter how unlikely it seemed now. There had to be one.

Widowmaker wouldn't just run off and murder an industrialist.

Would she?

_No, no. There has to be a reason. There has to be more to it._

"Look at me, Amélie!" Tracer demanded and felt a punch to her guts when Widow complied. There was so much pain and sorrow in her beautiful golden eyes. So much hurt and despair. Lena inhaled sharply "Why did you do that?"

_There is more to it._

"...Sorry." Amélie whispered. She couldn't tell Lena. She couldn't. It was too important. If she told Lena and Morrison found out, the deal they had would be off. They needed to bring down Talon. Widow couldn't tell Lena for her own good, she couldn't. When everything was said and done, when -not if- Talon would be nothing more than a pile of burning ashes, then Widow could tell Lena the whole thing. But until then...

"Don't you dare be sorry for not telling me!" Lena barked. "Don't you think I deserve to know what's going on after all you just told me? After all you-" Tracer stopped herself, her mouth snapping shut. Somewhere in the back of her mind a very disturbing thought suddenly began to take form, sticking its ugly head out toward the front and into her consciousness. It couldn't be. That was impossible... or was it?

The face Widow made when she had opened her secret assignment from Morrison flashed back into Lena's face. The unreadable expression she had worn. Widow had told her that she wouldn't like the orders Widow had received.

_There is more to it._

"It was your assignment." Lena all but forced out to say. "Your secret orders." She gasped. "Bloody hell Amélie please don't tell me you had orders to do that." She pleaded, refusing to believe what that revelation would entail.

Widow's eyes were wide as saucers and Lena could see how she wrecked her brain to come up with a reply. More than a little reluctantly she managed a uncomfortable "I promised you that I'd never lie to you." She said and didn't add that Lena had promised to not ask questions about her secret assignment. It was too late.

"Dear lord, Morrison ordered you to kill Volskaya." Lena couldn't believe the words she was saying, but it suddenly made so much more sense. The ugly thought she had. It was true. Now she was absolutely certain that there was even more to it than she had thought. Still, it begged the question, what was the Commander playing at? Why did he tell Widowmaker to kill Volskaya? Plausible deniability? A scapegoat? That didn't sound like Morrison. Something didn't fit. Lena was missing an important piece of the puzzle. Still, the Commander had sent Widow to assassinate someone.

" _Oui_ " Amélie replied. She shouldn't have been surprised that Tracer would be more than capable to make the connection between the secrecy about her assignment from the Commander and the murder of Katya Volskaya. Maybe a part of Widow had hoped that Lena would figure it out.

"Why did you go along with that crap? Sweet mother of Jesus, why did  _he_  do that? What's going on?" she demanded to know, reaching over to her girlfriend turn Widow's face toward her, so that she was forced to look at her. Pain and shame were still written all over Amélie's pretty features, her lips pushed into a fine line. "Fucking hell, when I brought you here, luv, you ending up doing Morrison's dirty work for him wasn't exactly what I had in mind! I wanted you to have a good life. A life of your own. What does that bloody Yankee think he's doing?" Lena was fuming as she set her hands on her girlfriend's shoulders. "And why are you going along with it? Why are you doing this? What did Volskaya do? Is this what you really want, Amélie? Are you really doing this because you want?"

Widowmaker felt cornered like never before in her life. A feeling she usually didn't handle well at all.

" _Oui_!" she admitted. "I did it for you,  _cherie._ For you. So you'd be save."

That felt like a slap to the face to Lena. "M-me? How does killing Volskaya help me? Amélie, dear, I love you, but... I don't want you to kill people like that."

Widowmaker needed to find a way out of this particular corner. She needed to give her lover something to work with. Something which wasn't the whole truth behind the deal. This way, maybe, she would be able to honor her promise to Morrison and to Lena alike. "Remember when I told you that I went to him after you were hurt in Austria?" Amélie asked with an uncharacteristically small voice. It made her seem so fragile and vulnerable, a state no one else but Lena would ever get to see and live to tell the tale.

Tracer nodded, silently urging Widow to continue. The bigger picture eluded her. Maybe it would all make sense. "I told you that he had his reasons... And they were really good reasons. I overheard something I shouldn't have heard." Amélie's lower lip started quivering. "I promise you, I'm doing this for you and me, for  _us_ , I swear! You know I'd do anything for you, anything you want, but this is... greater than you and me. It's better if you don't know. You need to trust me for this, please.  _Je vous en supplie, ma chérie_. I'm sorry,please don't hate me for this. I just want you to be save." Amélie fidgeted around on her place in the bed, nervously playing with her fingernails, as she kept stealing quick glances of Lena. She hated this discussion, she hated every moment of it, hated that she couldn't tell Lena. But Amélie thought back to the horrifying image of Tracer being held captive by Talon and knew that she had to do everything within her capabilities to ensure that would never come to be. The thought of being left by Tracer just to keep her out of harm's way was mortifying to a degree where it made Widow nauseous. "Just... please..." she said in a barely audible whisper. "I said I'd never lie to you... but... please don't... don't make me tell you..."

Lena shook her head ever so slightly, signaling that she didn't have any intention of making Amélie do that. It wouldn't have been right. Of course she wanted to know what happened exactly, but she trusted Amélie implicitly. Her girlfriend had a reason to be so distraught about this matter, so pressing it would have been wrong. Tracer was sure that Amélie had given Morrison a promise to not discuss this matter with anyone. She just hoped for his sake that the commander didn't force that promise out of Widow. Orders and promises, were ingrained into Amélie's mind, Lena knew. She couldn't defy them easily.

"There is more..." Widow forced herself to go on.

"It's ok, luv..."

" _Non,_ it isn't..." she inhaled sharply. There was no point in hiding this now. Widow didn't want to appear like she was left with no other choice, because she could have just walked away. She didn't. "I enjoyed it. The hunt, laying out the trap, the moment when I had them where I needed them, when I made them seal their own fates by sitting them down on the couch. They had no idea what was going on. It was such a rush. Making Volskaya pull the trigger before forcing her to shoot herself, too. I enjoyed that so much." She confessed. "I know it's not normal. But I can't help it. I really can't. I tried so hard to not like it, but it's... it gives me pleasure. And there is nothing I can do against it Please don't hate me, Lena." Amélie's voice was barely more than a whisper while she played with the nails of her thumbs. The clicking noise was almost louder than her voice. "I'll do anything you want, just... don't hate me." She swallowed audibly, forcing her hands still. "Don't leave me."

The words stung. Like needles into a badly healed wound they stung.

At a loss for words, Lena said nothing. For a solid minute, she said nothing. They had been at this point so many times before, so many endless reassurances, so many whispered sweet nothings, so many promises that she would never go anywhere. Amélie was still scared of being abandoned, of being left alone. Scared that Tracer, the only person that ever truly meant something to her, would grow tired of her antics.

Tracer looked at her girlfriend coming apart like that and for some reason knew exactly what was happening. She could see why Amélie did what she did. She knew why she acted the way she did. None of this would have happened if Widowmaker wouldn't have been so utterly fucked up by other people or if her mental weaknesses wouldn't have been exploited someone who obviously didn't know better. Right about now Tracer cursed the day Amélie asked Mercy to not put anything about her mental problems into her file. She had been ashamed of it. But maybe it would have told Morrison some things he  _shouldn't_ do. Like give her direct orders. Or make her promise stuff. Her healing process wasn't far enough down the line for Amélie to handle those things like a normal human could.

Lena was furious inside. Boiling with anger, seething with rage.

But not at Amélie.

Yet again Tracer found herself angry beyond reasonable comparison at someone she never even saw before. A ghost under the name of Talon. There were times when it was all too easy to forget what happened to Amélie once you got used to her blue skin and cool touch. And Lena got used to it a long time ago, to a point where she found herself actually surprised how hot other people felt. It was so easy to think that Widow was just another completely normal woman, so easy to forget what had been done to her. But that didn't change the fact that Widowmaker was no normal woman and, if Mercy's diagnosis was anything to go by, would most likely never be.

She was furious at Morrison for daring to use Widows engraved loyalty to his advantage, angry at the fact that he made her what she used to be. An assassin. She gave the Commander the benefit of the doubt and allowed that he didn't know any better.

Be that as it may, whatever Morrison was playing at, Tracer would have a word with him. Soon. In private. And she would give him a piece of her mind. Because no matter how she twisted and turned it, in the end Amélie was the victim. She had to carry the burden, face the ghosts which would haunt her and deal with the impossible situations it would place her in. Situations like the one they were in right in this moment, with a completely distraught, upset and almost hysterical Widowmaker, who was scared to death of being alone again.  _I'll do anything you want, just... don't hate me. Don't Leave me._ Lena heard those words in the back of her mind over and over again. It made her shiver.

_Damn them all. Damn Morrison. Damn Talon. It's all their fault she is like this. Those are some pretty serious abandonment issues, luv. And I have no idea how to take them away from you. I tried, believe me, I tried, but oh god I don't know how I can make you see. How I can make you realize that I'm not going anywhere. I want to help you so bad, I want to take all that pain away from you. Just tell me how. Tell me how I can make you smile and laugh again._

" _Chérie?_ "

"mh?"

"Please say something..."

Lena didn't, instead she just got up from bed and started putting on her clothes. She made it into her undies and halfway into her pants before she noticed Widowmaker's questioning and borderline hurt gaze. Giving her a gentle smile, Lena moved toward her dresser and picked one of Amélie's outfits stored there, handing it to her lover.

Widow felt her heart stop and sink into her pocket, but she wordlessly followed Lena's example and got dressed, mentally preparing to be kicked out. Her hands felt numb, to a point where it was almost impossible to close the buttons of the black blouse Lena had handed her. What would she do now? She was actually only a moment away from simply telling Lena  _everything_  about the UN, about the truth behind the Petras-act, about Overwatch, about Morrison and Reaper. She was only moments away from spilling very last detail in a panicked attempt to not be left alone, not caring what it would do to her still active mental inhibitors which were enforcing loyalty and made her more inclined to obeying direct orders from people she acknowledged as her superiors. But just when Widow inhaled to speak up, Tracer beat her to it.

"Let's get something to eat, ok? The world looks better with something to eat." she said with a warm, loving smile on her lips, holding out a hand for Widowmaker to take. "I'm not mad. Let's go." She thought that maybe, if they'd just go about a fairly normal daily routine, Amélie would calm down and relax a little. If Lena showed her that she wasn't going anywhere, maybe they could have another discussion in the afternoon. One not loaded with emotions.

Blinking, and utterly confused about what was happening, but happy to have some more time with Lena, Amélie reached for the warm, soft hand and offered no protest when she followed Lena through the corridors of the Watchpoint. By now the sun was already on the rise, standing more than half way above the horizon. The light was bright and warm, completely contradicting the way Amélie felt.

The walk toward the mess-hall was spent in silence yet again, but at least Lena didn't let go of Widow's hand, dragging the feared assassin behind her. That was until they reached their destination and Tracer let go of Widows hand in the end.

They stopped and Amélie looked at Tracer for a moment, but said nothing.

 _It's not like you need to be ashamed because of your girlfriend or something._ Fareeha's words from the other day were echoing in Amélie's mind. As much as she tried, they wouldn't go away either. Automatically following Lena into the mess hall, where the two were dutifully lining up at the end of the line waiting to get their food, Amélie allowed herself a moment of reflection about their relationship. Truth to be told, she didn't have the first clue where they stood. There was a time when their secrecy about their relationship made perfect sense. But Widow had to wonder why they still kept it going. They never really talked about it. Was it maybe what Lena wanted?

Being late morning, it was obviously breakfast time. As expected the mess hall was filled with all sorts of people, technicians, soldiers and security personal, maintenance-crews and agents. People were running around with tablets filled with scrambled eggs and bacon, with cereals or bread and jam. The waitresses were re-filling everyone's coffee or serving the people's plates who were waiting in a line at the buffet. Lena and Amélie were at the end of the very same line.

The curious thing was, levitating directly in front of them was no one else than Zenyatta. The Omnic monk.

"Oi, Zen." Lena said with a frown "Why are you lining up at the serving counter? Not to be mean or anything, but it's not like you can eat our food, can you?"

Zenyatta slowly turned around. "Greetings." He offered with his usual calm and peaceful voice. "An excellent question, indeed. Is it weird for me to participate in the daily rituals everyone here has grown accustomed to? I wish to experience the way a human day is structured, hoping that it might provide some insight."

"Experience a human day?"

"Precisely."

Tracer laughed cheerfully. "Nah, not weird at all. Actually I think it's kind of cute."

"I am relieved. Though I fear the cook will be somewhat puzzled. But I shall cross that bridge once I reach it." He gave a soft humming noise. "Anyway, how are you fairing, Amélie?"

Widow didn't react, completely zoned out, until Tracer nudged her in the side.

" _Pardon,_ you were saying?" she asked, her voice back to being as icy as usual, with the haughty touch which was so typical for Widowmaker.

"It's of no importance. I have to say, though, it's good to see you two together. You make for a fitting couple, if I dare say so-"

"Shh!" Tracer hissed, glancing over at Amélie. Her girlfriend always got so uncomfortable in public. Lena wanted her to spare the attention. "No one knows."

Tracer had no idea about the thoughts Amélie actually had. She thought that she was doing something good for her girlfriend. To her keeping up the secrecy had a crystal clear reason. Amélie was not used to attention in public and preferred to be left alone. Lena didn't want her to feel uncomfortable by holding hands in public or short PDAs.

"You're ashamed of me, aren't you?" Widowmaker asked quietly. Lena's jaw literally dropped.  _What?!_  "Ashamed of being with someone like me." Amélie continued in a whisper, and tried to smile. It wasn't like she could blame Lena for it. Her girlfriend was so well respected, so many people looked up to her. She was a role model. "It's ok. Really, I understand. Everyone would give you a hard time. Especially now..." Amélie tried to pull off another supportive smile, but it only looked tortured "Don't worry, I don't mind being your dirty little secret. As long as we can be together behind closed doors, I don't mind. Just... I want to know." She spoke in such a hushed voice that there was no way anyone could have overheard them. Maybe Zenyatta right in front of them, but he had artificial hearing. For any organic ear the noise in the mess hall would have been too loud to overhear them.

Tracer stared at Amélie with an open mouth, so taken aback by what she was hearing that no immediate reply came to mind. It was a huge wasteland in her head, the lone tumbleweed rolling past at high noon. All the time she wanted to help Amélie. All the time she had been causing damage. She should have known better.

_Damn luv, you take abandonment issues to a whole new level. Damn... what do I do..._

And then it hit Lena. Like lightning in a thunderstorm it shot through her. She grabbed Amélie's hand again and without a word she dragged her away into the middle of the mess hall.

Lena made it exactly two steps before the first colleagues of hers noticed her presence. Or better yet, noticed the fact that she was holding hands with  _Widowmaker._  Many eyes were on them, all filled with a certain kind of curiosity. The former pilot quickly found a table in the middle of the mess hall, occupied by Hanzo and McCree.

"Sorry you two," she said with a cheeky wink, letting go of Widow yet again, before she effortlessly jumped on the table with one quick step. McCree was barely able to safe his cereal from certain doom in form of being kicked over and Hanzo instinctively grabbed on to his cup of tea, thus saving the liquid from an equally permanent demise. It was very dishonorable to spill tea after all.

Tracer cleared her throat loudly, but not before smiling at Amélie for another time. Whatever was going to happen, Widow had that feeling that it was not going to be good. She knew that look on Lena's face and usually it was never followed by something productive.

"Folks, may I have your attention for a minute?" Tracer shouted at the top of her lungs, to make her presence known to the busy lot in the mess hall. Everyone was going about their own business, but Lena wanted their minds focused on her. It worked. A few moments passed and the constant background talking, the rattling of dishes and the footsteps on the ground did indeed quiet down until it was almost completely silent. Lena smiled at how smoothly that worked and turned around once to see if everyone was paying her attention. She did spot Angela, her blond mane and shining blue eyes were hard to miss, sitting on a table together with Reinhardt and Torbjörn, but other than them and the two she annexed the table from, Lena didn't spot anyone she immediately recognized.

Lena could have sworn that the mild smile on Mercy's face showed that the doctor had a pretty good idea of what would follow. But her best friend smiled a lot, so she couldn't be sure. It didn't really matter either, the former pilot would see this through and maybe take away one of the largest concerns of her lover once and for all. It would be worth it.

"Thank you!" Tracer said loudly. "There is something I want to tell you all. You might not see where I am going with this immediately or why I am telling you about this, but please bear with me for a bit. It will all make sense eventually. And since you all like to gossip anyway, you'll all love this." She took a deep breath. This was the right thing to do. It needed to be done. No more hiding.  _Fuck it._  "So, here it goes. For the past year, give or take a little, I have been with the love of my life. The person who makes me smile, laugh, sometimes cry, but who makes me, overall, wholly happy." Lena paused when some people expressed their approval, but quickly continued. "You all know how I swing. You lot all know that I have a certain preference for the fairer sex." She said and was forced to pause again when someone spoke up.

"You mean you're too gay to draw a straight line!" someone tossed in and everyone else joined in a short round of good willed laughter. Tracer herself giggled a little.

"Well, I can't deny that. And I never made a secret about my sexuality either. I was always upfront and honest with it. However, I have kept the existence of my girlfriend, the woman I truly love from the bottom of my heart, a secret, because I feared how you all would react. Not toward me, I can handle you all just fine. I was afraid of how you all would be to her. But today my girl asked me if I was ashamed of her." Lena paused and noticed how the room had gotten strangely silent. Usually there was always some kind of background noise, as it would be expected from a mess hall this size, filled with people. Someone always coughed, dropped a fork, cleared a throat or moved a plate. Not this time. It was silent.

"That is something I will not accept or tolerate. I will not allow even a moment of doubt of where my loyalties are or how my priorities are sorted. Because as far as I have influence over this matter, she will always come first, just like I am sure that you all  _will_ put your families first. If there is one reason we all fight for what is right it's our homes, our families, the ones we love. And that is fine, it's how it should be. Without family we might just as well not fight at all, because what would be the point? It's what makes us who we are. There is nothing more important than family." Lena was interrupted by a wave of agreement before she could continue. "So, I am here to tell you all that for the past year, I have been in an intimate relationship with none other than Amélie Lacroix. You all might know her better as Widowmaker. She is my family. The reason I fight." Lena gestured toward an obviously stunned French woman, who did not enjoy the attention of the entire mess hall for even a microsecond. If glances could kill, Amélie would just have committed mass murder.

"What are you staring at me for, eh? Never seen my face around here? Lena is talking, not me!" Widow hissed, trying to hide how deeply moved she was. If she wasn't in public, she'd be smiling like an idiot. She hadn't expected  _that._ Not at all. But it was very much welcome.

A surprised murmur was going through the crowd, no one really sure what to think or do and Lena didn't really leave them time to figure it out either, as she continued:

"I  _am_  aware that she isn't exactly a popular face around here. And I know that she can come across as a little  _rude_ at times." Lena made eye contact when she said that, but Widow just shrugged. "Many of you are convinced that she has ulterior motives for being here and some of you were rather vocal about those opinions too. And you would be completely correct. Widowmaker didn't come here only because she was fed up with Talon. She didn't come here simply because she saw a way out when she saved Mercy's life. She  _has_ anulterior motive for being here.

Me.

I'm her ulterior motive. She is here because of  _me_. Saved Mercy's life because she is my best friend. Put up with all your hostilities because she wanted to be with me. I'm the reason she is here."

"I know that most of you think of me as their friend and it's really great that we get along so well. But if you  _really_  want to be my friends, I ask you to accept who my heart has chosen. Because no matter what, I  _cannot_  and  _will not_  change my mind about this. If it comes down to it, I  _will_ chose Amélie, even if it means leaving all this behind. I love her so much, that I chased her time after time again, until I finally got through to her, until I was finally able to bring her here. Away from Talon and to us. To me. Family, remember?

I want you all to know that I never betrayed anyone of you while doing this. She is here with me now, not the other way round. I would be at Talon with her if that was the case. But I am not. I promise you that Amélie means you no harm. That said, I once again ask you to accept this. Us. You don't need to understand it. But accept it. Otherwise, I'm sorry to tell you, that you can all go and kiss my gay ass. I made my choice."

And with that Tracer reached down to a completely stunned Widowmaker and pulled her onto the table, where she pulled her into a tight embrace, giving her the mother of all scandalous kisses, filled with burning hot passion, her hand on the small of Widow's back, the other burying in her hair.

They didn't even notice how the stunned silence of the mess hall continued.

Everyone just stared in silence, not knowing what to think, not believing what they saw and surely not certain what to make of what they heard.

Lena broke away from Amélie, leaving a thin line of salvia spreading between their lips, which quickly disappeared. Tracer was still holding her girlfriend tightly, preparing to just walk away from it all. It would have been worth it. Screw Morrison if he dared to mess with Widow. He would get his talk, oh yes. That was right up there on Tracer's agenda.

Then her eye caught Mercy, who had pressed her fork into Reinhard's hand, smiling innocently while she kept the German knight exactly where he was. Sitting on his ass. In the meantime, Torbjörn had gotten up. The grumpy dwarf stomped toward the middle, looking as pissed off as always.

"What are you all gawking at, eh? Ohhh-hoo, she's gay, biiiig surprise. Never seen a happy couple before?" he shouted. "Would have anyone of you had the balls to admit something like that?"

_Silence._

"No! No, you wouldn't. Tracer has more balls then we all together. They're happy together, so at least have the decency to act like human beings and be happy for them! Now get off your sorry asses and give them a round of applause! Where are you manners?" he roared. Torbjörn could be really scary when he was angry, despite his size. It was probably the way he waved around his prosthetic hand to emphasize his point and the way his face contorted in burning fury. The Swedish engineer commanded authority and respect like very few others could. So when he gave the whole of Overwatch a lecture, people actually listened. His word had weight.

There was a bit of delay before the first clapping sounds started.

But it happened none the less.

Widow seemed slightly uncomfortable as the applause started getting louder, so she glanced over at Lena for some pointers on what to do now. But Lena could only grin at her as they were applauded. She pulled her purple girlfriend

"Still think I'm ashamed of you?" she asked and Widowmaker only shook her head with wet eyes. "I will always stand right next to you. No matter what." Lena couldn't stop smiling. "Get that into that stubborn head of yours. Otherwise I'll have to write you a note."

"I love you, Lena." She choked out, not caring about anyone seeing her cry and laugh at the same time. "I love you so much." She said and gave her girlfriend another kiss, salty from her tears of joy and relief.

-/-

* * *

 

**Prison block, at the same time**

Sombra didn't expect that DVa would actually come back.

They never did, no matter what they told her. It was an unfair comparison, Sombra acknowledged, she hadn't had wild, dispassionate sex with Hana... yet. Not that her chances were particularly high. That didn't mean she couldn't dream. That girl had an inexplicable appeal to herself, one that made Sombra want to seduce and corrupt her in the best possible way. Make her doubt her own sanity by fueling a carefully ignited flame inside the gamer to a point where it was a blazing inferno.

Wishful thinking.

Sombra was convinced that the next face she would see was Reinhardt's or Zarya's who would drag her back to the interrogation room to finish what they had started. Olivia had taken DVa's advice to get some shut eye in and actually fell asleep the moment her head had connected to the mattress. Overwatch considered this a prison cell. Talon would have called it the VIP visitor accommodation. The view out of the room sized window was absolutely breathtaking. It had been the last thing on Sombra's mind when she had drifted into a long, sleepless slumber the day before.

The warmth of the early morning sun on her skin was what had woken her up. It was almost like home. Warm and bright the sun was shining into her cell, flooding the small room and bathing it in orange, teasing her skin and giving her energy. If it wasn't for the fact that Sombra couldn't just open the door and go for a stroll in her home town, maybe visit the bakery, say hello to Alejandra and enjoy some coffee there, it would have been perfect.

Slowly sitting up and blinking the dreaminess out of her eyes, Sombra noticed the thin blanket sliding off her body, but she didn't care. It wasn't like she expected a visitor soon, at least none she would have had to be decent for. Screw the eyeful the old knight would get. And with that thought Sombra had all but forgotten about her perfectly shaped, firm and pierced breasts hanging out in the open for everyone to see.

That was when the door creaked and Sombra tilted her head curiously toward the door. She was more than a little surprised to see Hana, with a tray in her hands. "Good morning. I thought I'd bring you some-" DVa took two steps into the cell before she stopped, like she was suddenly rooted to the floor like a thousand year old oak, sporting a deep red flush on her face. Judging from her posture and facial expression it took a lot of effort for the petite Asian to not drop the tray she was carrying on the spot. "You're naked!" she squealed, quickly putting the tray on a tiny table before spinning around to look away. She wished she hadn't seen the two golden ornaments on Sombra's breasts. But she had. And she couldn't get the image out of her mind. They looked good on her, Hana had to admit but immediately scolded herself for that thought. It was naughty. She shouldn't think about something like that.

"Hu?" Sombra blinked looking down on herself. Yes, she indeed was naked, presenting her exposed upper body to the world. Or in this case to a very flustered DVa. She grinned, enjoying the younger girls embarrassment. "Does it make you uneasy?" she asked with feigned innocence. "It's no big deal, why don't you turn around and take a look if you want, hmmm?"

"Sombra!" DVa squealed, feeling her cheeks burn up to an impossibly high temperature. "Cover up! I don't wanna see your  _b-boobs_!"

There was a mocking gasp from the hacker. "Is that right? Is there something wrong with them? Should I be insulted?" Sombra continued to tease, fighting the urge to stand up and walk up to poor DVa stark naked. It might have been a little too straight forward.  _Ha._ She chuckled to herself.  _Straight... suuuure. Oh well, take what you get. Nothing wrong with it._

DVa made an absolutely adorable sound which could have been a suppressed whimper. "They look great, Olivia please! Cover up already!"

"Fine, fine,  _chica._ " Sombra replied with a soft giggle, knowing exactly how flustered Hana got whenever Sombra used the pet name she had given the young Asian. " _Anything_  for you." She purred, pulling on the blanked to cover herself. "You can turn around again."

DVa did so very carefully, as if she was expecting Sombra to mess with her. But the hacker had indeed pulled the blanket over her chest again and wrapped it around herself a little. Hana chose not to comment on how a blanked was hardly an adequate article of clothing. She knew full well that it would have only prompted Sombra to tease her even more. "I brought you some breakfast." Hana said, carefully nodding toward the tray which had some scrambled eggs, bacon two toasts and a glass of orange juice on it.

" _Gracias,_ Hana _._  I appreciate it." Sombra smiled honestly, enjoying how much Hana reacted to her teasing. It was almost too easy. The girl, she was hardly a woman yet, was so obviously inexperienced, which Sombra didn't realize she would find endearing. There was an air of innocence surrounding Hana, like she was somehow physically incapable of deception. For some reason that had a calming effect on Sombra. She felt like herself around DVa.

"No big deal. The mess hall was on my way anyway." Hana replied and tried to play it cool, ignoring her burning blush. Everything about Sombra was exciting it its own regard, the way she spoke to her, the way she acted, the way she carried herself, her attitude and her style. Sombra was all too confident, yet also a little playful. She was sexy as hell despite her being obviously dangerous. She could be dead serious in some moments, but lighthearted in the next.

In short, Sombra was everything Hana wanted to be so badly. And she was so close to her. It all sent a spark of excitement through Hana, no matter how much she tried to tell herself that none of it was the case. Shrugging this particularly unwelcome thought off, Hana instead watched as Sombra reached for the tray and set in down in her lap. While she did so, DVa took the time to study the hacker's sidecut, the short hair seeming almost impossibly soft, only interrupted by fine lines of bare skin where some of her implants were. The only parts of technology that weren't removed. Mercy was concerned of possible damage to the hacker's brain.

Too late Hana realized that she had been staring at Olivia and that the other woman had noticed a while ago, looking back at her with a subtle, almost gentle smile which held noting but a weird sense of honesty.

"You don't have to do this, you know?" Sombra stated as if it was only a side note, as she began forking eggs onto one of the toasts DVa brought along.

Hana looked at her for a moment slightly incredulous. "Do what?"

Sombra shook her head ever so slightly. "Keep me company and be nice to me. Not that I don't like it."  _Not that I don't like you._  "You caught me." _It will be so much easier for you, kitten._  "We all know how this will end. It's not like I'll walk away from this." She said with such indifference that Hana was actually taken aback for a solid minute.

"I-I'm only appointed to take care of you, nothing else! Don't flatter yourself." She pressed out, sounding as convincing as a kid coming up with excuses as to why exactly it was caught with the hand buried up to the elbow in the cookie jar.

"Is that right?" Sombra smiled, seeing straight through DVa and making no secret about it. "Don't do it to yourself." She said with a seriousness in her voice that made something inside DVa cringe awkwardly.

"Do what?" Hana forced herself to ask.

"Grow attached." Sombra said.  _I will only hurt you. One way or another, I will hurt you. I don't want to hurt you. You are so precious._ She sighed, absent mindedly continuing to play with her eggs. She wouldn't have minded DVa growing attached. If they had met in a bar in Mexico. Or anywhere else in the world. Somewhere where they could run off and experience an adventure together. But they hadn't. And they couldn't. "Your Commander won't keep me around when he's done."

"W-what?" Hana stammered. It took her a moment longer than she liked to realize what Sombra was hinting at. "You think we'll kill you when we have what we want from you?" she gasped.

"It's the logical thing to do." Sombra shrugged. For some inexplicable reason she had never really thought that there would be a good end to this story. To her story in general. She felt that there was more to everything she did than she knew. It was weird how she often didn't do things she wanted to or did other things she actually didn't want to do. It had no pattern and it was only a hunch. But Sombra had the feeling that she had a purpose to be at the Watchpoint. A purpose which exceede being a prisoner.

She, however, didn't have the first idea what it could have been. All she was certain of was, that Overwatch wouldn't like it. She felt like a puppet which the puppeteer had left to herself for a moment. The strings, however, were still attached and Sombra knew that it was only a matter of time until someone would pull them again. She was a puppet. She knew she was.

DVa punched her on the shoulder with an expression of horror on her face. "No one will kill you!" she gasped. "They just want to know a few things. Just tell them and we'll leave you alone. I'm sure if you want you could even stay here! I mean we took that blue bitch in too, why not you as well?"

Sombra chuckled heartily. "Are you trying to play the good cop,  _chica?_ "

"What? No! Of course not, I just don't want you to suffer."

"Oh? Not just appointed to be my caretaker after all, are we now?" Sombra was back to teasing, trying to divert her own dark thoughts to some more lightweight topics.

"It's not that! It's not like I like you or anything! I just don't want you to get hurt, ok?" Hana stammered, feeling her face burning up yet again. Why was her body never complying with her brains commands! Now was not the time for a childish blush! Why was Sombra making her so nervous in the first place? Sure, the hacker was amazing and definitely appealing. But so was Tracer and she had never made Hana so... uneasy. In a good way. But Tracer never flirted with Hana either. Sure, why would she? But DVa got the feeling that flirting was exactly what Sombra tried to do. It shocked her that she found it to be exciting.  _Very_ exciting. She shouldn't feel this way. It wasn't normal. Why did she like it? It was too much for her to handle.

"And why is that?" Sombra asked, winking cheekily. DVa couldn't take any more, she needed some air. It was almost like Olivia had taken up all the space in her mind and now Hana couldn't think straight anymore.

"Forget it!" she snapped quickly, turning to leave, but she was stopped by a warm, soft hand holding hers. Not in a forceful manner. Sombra was gentle and applied next to no pressure. Hana would just have to move her hand even a little and she'd be free. Not that she wanted to. "Wait." Sombra said, all the teasing gone from her voice. It was like she noticed that she had gone one step too far for Hana.

"Did you have breakfast yet, Hana?" Sombra asked and for a moment DVa glared at the hacker. She couldn't lie to her. She couldn't just go. So, being incapable to form a reply, Hana shook her head no. "Care to join me then?"

Not moving for a second, Hana finally decided to allow Sombra guide her to the spot next to her, not letting go of her hand while doing so. DVa sat down on the bed, uttering a barely audible  _fine._  The spot next to Sombra was warm and comfortable, the close proximity to the other woman making Hana both tense and strangely relaxed at the same accepted a delicious looking toast topped with scrambled eggs and bacon and watched Sombra prepare another. It was such a uncharacteristic task for Sombra to do. So shockingly mundane, it didn't really fit, but at the same time it fit perfectly.

In that moment Hana wondered what had driven the Mexican to become who she was now. The sunlight was playing with the dyed tips of Olivia's thick, otherwise brown, hair, highlighting her silhouette. Hana was suddenly acutely aware of the other woman's distinctive smell, cinnamon mixed with the odor that only originated from freshly opened electronic hardware boxes.

Not that DVa would have ever admitted it, but the Mexican hacker smelled great to her. Interesting... new. In a very fascinating way.

"Why did you join Talon?" Hana asked out of nowhere, not knowing where the question even came from or why she decided to give voice to it. Sombra looked up for a moment, an unreadable expression in her face, before she turned her attention back to the second toast.

"I don't really know. I needed money and was searching for something. I found it and that was when Talon contacted me. They made a good offer, so I joined."

"Money?" Hana frowned.

"A girl gotta eat." Was the shockingly dry reply. That was... a perspective, DVa guessed. Though she suspected there had been more to it. Not that she had a right to press the matter.

"We are feeding you." Hana shrugged and bathed in the sound of Sombra's cheerful laughter. It was making the room even brighter somehow.

"I can't join you." Yet again Sombra had an easy time figuring out where her new found friend was going.

"You can't or you don't want to?" Hana challenged. "I mean, I get it we don't pay as well as the baddies probably do, but I bet the food is better!"

Olivia actually laughed at that. "Oh you bet that the food is better! But... it's not that,  _chica._ I.. just can't." she said tilting her head slightly, hoping that DVa would understand what she was trying to say. That she didn't have a choice. That there was no other option for her. She didn't know for sure why she was so certain of this. But she was. There was no other option for Sombra. She had to do this. Anything else would be her demise.

"Why not? If Widowmaker was able to pull it off, you can too."

 _Why does she have to have a point there?_ Sombra wondered, pondering the thought for a moment  _How did the little spider do it? How did she rid herself of Talon. How did she walk away without any problems? It can't be that easy. Or is all just in my head? Damn, I've been there so many times before. I never could leave. Why now? Why did I get so far?_

A sudden rush of pain shot through Sombra's head and she cringed visibly. The thoughts were forced out of her head, against her will.

A puppet. The puppeteer taking control for a moment again.

"Are you alight?" Hana reached over, holding Olivia to give her some support.

" _Si, si._ Don't worry. Just a little headache." Sombra shrugged. "Let's say I could do what you say, how would that work, hm?" she asked, deciding to humor this particular train of thought for moment, no matter how dangerous it was for her. The pain in her head was still lingering around and she knew it would come back if she continued this. Wrecking the train was inevitable and as train-crashes went, they tended to leave a trail of destruction in their wake. She took a bite from her toast, waiting for Hana to reply. She wanted to hear it. She wanted that little glimpse at a better life. No matter the cost.

"All you really have to do, is tell us what you know about Talon. Then you say you will help us, Morrison will do for you whatever it was he did so Widow could stay and together we'll destroy Talon."

"Awww, it sounds so easy when you say it like that" Sombra grinned and gave Hana a light push with her ellbow.

"That's because it is this easy!" DVa insisted. "Bunch of thugs don't stand a chance against us."

A defeated sigh slipped over Sombra's lips. "Nowhere close. Even if I wanted, I can't share what I know."

"You keep saying that you can't! Why not? What's keeping you? Did they plant a bomb in your head and blow you up when you say a certain word?" Hana huffed and Sombra only laughed, but differently this time. Almost sadly.

"Oh  _chica..._ "

"What?" DVa asked with an adorable little pout, balling her hands into small fists.

This particular picture -Hana sitting on the disheveled bed with the autumn sun shining warmly into the cell, reflecting in her big brown eyes and making them glow- Sombra would never forget. She memorized it forever, simply because it was the first time in her life that she felt like someone could actually become her friend. Like someone would see past her many mistakes and might trust her. Someone Sombra could trust as well. She smiled sincerely and leaned in to softly kiss the gamer on her cheek. "Never change, Hana." Olivia whispered caressing the spot she had just kissed with the back of her fingers. "Never change."

-/-

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Alright my friends, that's it for this one.
> 
> First things first:
> 
> The guest I complained about last time actually apologized to me. Takes some cojones to admit when you're wrong. Apology accepted.
> 
> So this is "the talk" between Widow and Lena. And I absolutely hate it. I hate it for so many reason I cannot exactly pinpoint, which is frustrating me to no end. At some point I was just like, fuck it, let's get it out of the way and move on. Which I did, after I reworked it like a bazillion times. Widow's behavior just seems off, the way she acts in regards to her mission is off, everything is off. My idea was that she would want to honor her promise to Morrison and help him bring down Talon and that she knows that ultimately it is for both her an Lena's best interest if she does. But she is also so utterly loyal to Lena, so I knew she'd have to tell her some way or another. Which would stress her out. Which I tried to show. Which turned out not the way I wanted it. Let's move on to the next chapter, so we can all forget that talk ever happened.
> 
> My beta is really busy these days, but I really wanted to publish something. I will change this chapter to the corrected version once he worked over it. So don't worry, my atrocious spelling will be fixed.
> 
> Should anyone of you want to tip and finance my addiction to coffee, you can:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction (or just use the clickable link above)
> 
> A HUGE thank you to my supporters at Tipeee
> 
> FinickyCat
> 
> JellyNolVen
> 
> DarthWhiskey
> 
> That's all from me. I promise touchy-feely times are mostly over. It's soon time to kick ass and take names. Next chapter is already in the line and mostly done, so you can expect it somewhat soon-ish.
> 
> See ya folks around, I love you all
> 
> o7
> 
> E82
> 
> -/-
> 
>  
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Je vous en supplie, ma chérie (French) = I'm begging you, darling.


	43. now where is that closet?

_**Video log #15663, cameras 143, 144 and 146 – infirmary. Athena's deep file vault. Not accessible.** _

_"I can't take it any longer, Angela. It has to stop, alright?" Widowmaker stood in front of Dr. Ziegler's desk, her hands placed on the surface while she was leaning forward, looking intensely at the doctor._

_"We've been there before, it's not safe to remove your inhibitors yet. I still don't fully grasp how they work exactly. It could do god knows what to your brain." Angela replied carefully. The expression on her face was one of concern._

_Widowmaker leaned further over the desk "Oh, but letting me run around with a chip in my head that makes me obey orders is safe,_ oui?  _Do you have any idea how much it takes to resist that chip?"_

_Mercy tilted her head a little. "Amélie, why is this suddenly so important? We talked plenty about this and you always said it didn't matter. No one gives you orders at Gibraltar."_

_There was a long pause in which Widowmaker looked away. "I just don't like it, ok? Is that so hard to understand? How would you like it if you had that chip in your head?"_

_"I know it's not easy for you." It was obvious how much Angela didn't like where this conversation was heading. She of course understood her patient, but she had to make sure that Widowmaker wouldn't be harmed by her efforts to undo what Talon did to her. "But it's important to not rush things. I'm concerned about your health, ok?" Mercy said, being as compassionate as always as she reached forward to give Widow's hand a quick reassuring squeeze. Which did look a little awkward, given the fact that her hand had been placed firmly on the marble surface of Mercy's desk._

_"Not rush things. I remember someone half cutting her arm off to get rid of a tattoo. Wise and well thought out, Dr. Ziegler."_ _Widowmaker mocked._

_"Touché." Mercy sighed, adjusting some pencils on her desk in a way that seemed marginally less bothersome to the doctor than before. "Alright, here is what we are going to do. We'll make another scan of your brain and I will try to find out as much as I possibly can about what those inhibitor chips in your brain are doing exactly. Next week we'll start slowly programming nanoprobes to replace them one by one. This way we can control the damage should something go wrong."_

_"Thank you." Widowmaker sighed._

_"Don't thank me yet." Mercy said carefully, rubbing over her forehead. "It's a very risky procedure and one that will take time. We'll go slowly."_

_Widowmaker nodded obviously not at all happy with Mercy's reply. "It'll have to do."_

**-/-**

* * *

 

**Tactical Command Center, office of Commander Jack Morrison, approximately three hours later**

Morrison had no idea that his overall rather quiet and uneventful day was about to take a steep dive into the proverbial shit. Then again, he probably was halfway expecting something to go wrong at some point. It wasn't even time for lunch yet and  _nothing_ important or worth noting happened so far. Nothing. There wasn't even something as petty as someone spilling coffee.

If his long years as commander of Overwatch had taught him one thing and one thing alone, it would have been that there was no such thing as a quiet day. It simply didn't exist. Each day came with a fixed dose of bullshit, usually spread out evenly over the course of 24 hours. The longer it took for him to be confronted with the first sign of said load of cattle excrements, the more severe the event usually was on his shit-o-meter.

Morrison knew that the peaceful hours of his day came to a rather abrupt end in the exact same second the glass door into his office flew open with a bang, giving way to a 5'4" short war machine, better known as Tracer. The look on her face could optimistically be described as royally pissed and the Commander prepared to buckle up in his chair. Not that it came with any seatbelts, but metaphorically speaking.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to know what Oxton could have possibly been upset about. The list of things Morrison did which Lena would even care about enough in the first place to feel the need of talking to him about were easily counted on one hand. With four amputated fingers.

He was well aware of that.

The commander should have known better than to think that Widowmaker would be capable of not telling her girlfriend anything about what she was doing. Realistically it was hardly possible to keep everything a secret. She fancied Lena enough that the assassin had almost killed him after Austria. Widow was a woman of absolute extremes. She was like an overly aggressive guard dog in many ways. There was no way she'd ever harm a hair on Lena's head, but if someone decided they had a problem with Lena, Widow would tear them apart. Something he remembered all too well. That was a kind of loyalty Morrison could not help but respect. Widowmaker put her partner before anything else. Family must always come first, a philosophy he had mostly taken from Reaper, since the commander himself had no family of his own.

Morrison just hoped that Widowmaker had refrained from telling Lena the whole story about the UN and the Petras act. If she had told her about killing Volskaya and secretly working for him now, he could deal with that. It was simply a matter of convincing Tracer that he needed Widow's talent for hunting down Talon. Which wasn't even a lie. It was hardly a secret, most of his agents were in the field against Talon operatives anyway. The difference was their goal. The way they worked.

The question was, could he adequately convince one pigheaded Lena Oxton of that? It wasn't like he'd lie to her. He would just not tell her the whole truth. The problem was that Tracer was stubborn as a donkey and a lot smarter than what was good for her. A quality he usually appreciated greatly.

He'd have to wait and see, since Oxton had already stomped over from the door to his desk.

"Commander." Tracer  _hissed._ Which was in itself so rare that most people didn't know Lena was even capable of doing anything remotely reminiscent of hissing, but when she did, it was the sound of pure venom. You usually knew exactly that you were about to receive the shit end of the stick.

Morrison leveled his view on his subordinate and sighed. "What can I do for you, Agent Oxton?" he asked, feigning ignorance and keeping his calm. The angry spark in Lena's eyes was a cause for mild concern.

"Permission to speak freely?" she forced out. Morrison had to give her credit that she was willing to follow protocol until this point, because even a blind man would have seen that the woman was seething. Any more and there would have been steam coming out of her ears.

"You'll do so anyway, so granted."

The words haven't even fully left his mouth before Tracer exploded. "What the hell is going on? Why are you sending Amélie on secret assassination missions? With all due respect,  _Sir,_ but have you lost your mind? You can't just send her on missions to kill random people!"

Morrison blinked. "You aren't supposed to know that." He stated, deciding it was best to keep her focused on this part.

"Do you hold me for a fool, Commander? Do you? Who do you think has to fix the psychological stress your assignments have caused for her, hm?" Tracer pointed at her face. "This girl. Me. I do. I demand some answers why you deem it necessary to cause my girlfriend such emotional distress!" Tracer snarled.

Now that one was actually new. Had Morrison not known long before, he would have been surprised. He had heard that Lena decided to make a little public announcement in front of everyone this morning, but didn't pay it much mind.

"Your girlfriend, Agent?" he asked, pretending to be surprised.

"My girlfriend of quite some time, Commander. Is that a problem to you,  _Sir?_ " Tracer hissed, somehow managing to let  _sir_ sound like an insult.

Morrison let out a long and heavy sigh. What was it with people always thinking that he'd be opposed to this relationship, or that relationship or whatever else. As long as it didn't affect their work performance, he couldn't care less. Fraternization rules? Ridiculous. "Lady Lacroix is an adult woman, as are you. I have no right to judge."

"Good." Tracer stated. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like some answers, Morrison. I trusted you with my life. But lately I can't help but get the feeling that you're doing some funny things. What's going on? What you are  _using_ Amélie for," Lena spat the word out like it was bitter, "reminds me an awful lot of Talon. Secret assassinations? Have we sunk so far already?"

That had struck a nerve in Morrison. That Tracer, one of his best and most valued agents, would express a loss of trust in him was not to be taken lightly. It was not to be underestimated and something which had to be fixed. Also, he hadn't thought she'd go for the morale part of everything and draw some painful comparisons between the enemy and his tactics. Still, he had to play a role here.

"Agent Oxton, no matter how much I appreciate your work and value as one of the best field agents I have ever had the honor of working with, I am not at liberty to disclose the exact reasons, proceedings and motivations of top secret missions to you." Morrison stated firmly.

To her own surprise, Lena managed to not roll her eyes. "I'm not asking you to disclose top secret information to me. I never once asked about any details before, did I? All I want to know is why you're sending my girlfriend out to kill people. And I want you to allow her to speak to me about it. Because it's breaking her apart. I don't know why you think it's ok to put her back to duty in such a fashion, but I really want to believe you have a reason. Otherwise I'm sure you wouldn't go past Dr. Ziegler's explicit recommendations regarding Amélie's mental state. I hate to say it like this, but she isn't  _stable,_ Morrison."

He should have known better than to assume that Tracer had no idea about what Angela recommended to him regarding Widowmaker's mental and physical health. This wasn't going where he expected  _at all._ The problem was that Lena had already dropped a hint or two about his trustworthiness. He couldn't afford to lose one of his best agent's trust in him  _now_. Then again, he couldn't tell Tracer too much either, because he could never be sure who was playing for which team. A very alarming thought suddenly hit him. How close had Tracer gotten to the enemy? How close had she gotten to Talon? He forced the thought out of his head. It was ridiculous, he knew for sure. There was no question where Lena Oxton's loyalties were. Not the shadow of a doubt. He would not allow his own paranoia to destroy that.

"All I can tell you is, that Lady Lacroix decided to participate in this endeavor on her own free will. It was her choice." Morrison said, hoping that it would serve to show that he didn't  _force_ Widow to do anything. Well, apart from forcing her to not strangle him to death. But that was Reaper and not him.

Tracer's eyelid twitched. She'd murder him. She knew it. She'd murder him any moment now. "That's it?"

Morrison sighed heavily and leaned forward on his desk, folding his hands over each other. "Alright Lena, let's lay it on the line." He pinched the bridge of his nose, not completely certain if telling Lena was the best idea he ever had. Then again, what choice did he really have? It wasn't like Oxton would just give up. She'd dig around and that digging would involve some questioning of Widowmaker. Sure, Widow promised she wouldn't tell Lena, but he had no idea how long that promise would hold up against Lena trying to get what she wants. No, he was better off giving her something, this way he could at least control how much and which information she'd have.

"You know we are hunting Talon."

"We have done little else in the past years, have we now?" Tracer replied with a shrug that said  _no shit Sherlock._

"True, but what Widowmaker is currently doing for me is a little different. So far, we have tried, more or less successfully, to deny Talon critical supplies, place fake intelligence or sabotage their missions. That's not what Lacroix is doing. She's on a dedicated kill shot mission. Elimination of high value Talon targets. Her only goal is to find and eliminate the instigators and collaborators of Talon. I don't think I need to explain why took her up on the offer. Her skills as a marksman are above and beyond anything we have ever seen at Overwatch. Choosing her was the logical thing to do, given the importance of her assignment. The mission is sanctioned by people higher up in the command chain than me, so rest assured that I haven't gone rogue." Morrison explained calmly, watching as the words sunk into Tracer. She blinked slowly, realization dawning on her only bit by bit.

"Hang on just a moment there." she spoke up with a frown on her forehead. "Higher ups? Which higher ups? I thought we operate kind of illegally since the shutdown?"

Morrison grumbled. "Which is true. Which doesn't mean I don't have superiors." He said with a serious look on his face.

_Tick_

_Tock_

_Tick_

_And the penny fell._

"Understood, Sir." Tracer replied evenly, feeling that this particular line of questioning was  _well_  beyond her pay grade.

"Good." Morrison nodded. "As for the events in Russia. We had intelligence that Katya Volskaya was collaborating with Talon, providing them with advanced weaponry and armament. I don't need to tell you why it's not desirable for us to have Talon run around with Volskaya's guns. Since director Volskaya had seemingly violated an agreement we had by apparently providing the enemy with equipment, I decided that she was no longer trustworthy. In her position she was too much a risk, which is the reason why I gave the order to eliminate her."

"Sorry to interrupt again, but holy shit Volskaya sold weapons to Talon? I didn't think she'd do that. She always seemed to be loyal to her people." Tracer mused.

"Yes..." Morrison sighed. He regretted what he had done to Katya. She had been a friend of sorts. He should have been more careful. "She was. The intelligence pointing us to her had been faked. She declined the deal with Talon, but we didn't know that."

"So Amélie killed her for nothing?" Lena gasped.

"I'm afraid so. She, however, did exactly as she was asked to do. Lady Lacroix offered her skills for disposing of Talon affiliated targets in exchange for impunity. I admit that maybe it wasn't my wisest choice, but I needed someone who would and could pull the trigger. Widowmaker did. That Volskaya was innocent in the end is not her fault. As I already said, we need her skills, Tracer."

"Why didn't she just say so, dammit?" Tracer felt her hands ball into fists.

"She wasn't allowed to disclose information regarding that mission to anyone." Morrison replied. "If you promise to never speak of this mission again to anyone but her, I can allow Lady Lacroix to discuss certain aspects of it with you, just as you asked me to. Do you think this would be beneficial to her mental health?"

Her fists tightened further, and she felt her nails digging into her skin. "It would be beneficial to her mental health to not do that kind of work at all, boss." Tracer said between gritted teeth. "She isn't ready for that kind of work yet. She isn't ready to get orders again... you don't understand." Lena took a deep breath forcing herself to relax. She tried to find the words to explain what she saw so clearly in front of her, without telling Morrison more than he needed to know about Amélie's private problems. "Talon conditioned her to follow orders. They made her obedient. Now you said she offered her help and wants to do that, and I believe you, because she told me the same thing. She wants to help. She sees Talon for the enemy they are, all because of the progress we... she made. I'm just worried that a lot of that hard earned progress will be destroyed again. You know, that some of her conditioning might come back."

Morrison inhaled sharply. He couldn't honestly say that he liked Tracer's complaint, but neither could he disregard her point either. Something Widowmaker said during their secret debriefing after St. Petersburg came back to him.

_You need to understand that once you point the finger at someone and say_ kill _I will do that._

Suddenly that statement had a whole new aspect to it. A concerning, important, and downright scary aspect.

"I will be careful how I will phrase Widowmaker's future assignments and make sure they will not sound like orders, but instead like polite inquires asking for her help. Beyond that we don't have another choice. As I said, we need her skills, Lena. We really do. I'm sorry it has to be this way, but it's all I can offer." Morrison with his best diplomatic voice.

There was a moment of silence in which Tracer apparently thought about Morrison's offer. Realistically she knew that it was for the best. She knew that Widowmaker wanted to fight against Talon and bring them down. Personal revenge in this case, but Lena didn't care. It was fair enough. She had no right to take that revenge away from Amélie. Tracer could only make sure that her girlfriend would not be exposed to any needless danger. Danger beyond what their usual dose was in their line of work anyway. Maybe having someone like Morrison on the top doing the planning and preparations wasn't so bad?

"Fine." Lena grumbled. "Fine. You always led us well, Commander. I trust you. If you say it's necessary, then who am I to say something else." The words felt heavy in Lena's mouth. She was a soldier and duty came first. She would have left Overwatch for Amélie, sure. But as long as they were both here, she would do her part. If Widow worked to bring down Talon, Tracer would be right there with her. "You can count on me, too. Should you need someone for a two person gig."

"Noted." Morrison nodded. "Dismissed, Agent Oxton."

"Boss." Lena saluted and turned to leave.

"Oh, and Lena?" The Commander called out once again, when Tracer had the door handle already in her hand. She turned back to him. "Not a single word to anyone but Widow. We can't afford for this to spread. The hunt for Talon is one thing, but the assignment Widowmaker has goes well beyond that."

"You got it, boss." Tracer said and wanted to leave, but stopped herself in the last moment. There was a thought suddenly appearing in her head. The secrecy. The fact that Widow worked directly for Morrison and no one knew. The fact that they decided to kill anyone who seemed to have some connection to Talon. Could it be that... "Do you think we have a mole?"

"We don't know. We already had one. Another setback is not an option."

"I won't ask."

"Good. Because I won't answer." He said and watched as Tracer left his office. He let out a sigh of relief which he didn't know he had been holding. That indeed did go a lot better than he would have thought. At least one of his issues was out of the way now. If anything, the talk with Oxton would further improve Widow's combat effectiveness.

Somewhere along the line he had forgotten that no matter how cruel and brutally cold she seemed most of the time, Widowmaker was still human. She had needs and wishes and fears like everyone else, and he had to admit to a shortcoming on his behalf to adequately take them into consideration. He had always taken great pride in the way he treated his agents and subordinates. He usually tried his best to give them anything and everything they could need. Why had he not done the same for Amélie Lacroix? The better she worked, the better were their chances for success. Defeat was no option.

Which was also the reason why the Commander grabbed the receiver of his telephone and pressed a quick dial button.

"Athena, I need Hanzo and McCree in my office asap. Tell them to assemble their teams, they will be sent to Antarctica for a recon-mission. And please inform Dr. Laguardia that he will be coming along with them."

-/-

Lena exited the command center with a feeling of relief. The talk with Morrison had gone way better than she imagined. When she came in she was ready to gut the man, but the more she talked with him, the more she understood that whatever was going on right now was a lot more complex than she initially imagined.

They were soldiers. And soldiers were meant for war. The commander had done everything in his power to alleviate Tracer's concerns regarding Amélie. Which was really all she could ask for. He had been right about Widowmaker being an adult woman who has to make her own choices. Lena wouldn't stand in the way of that at all. All she could and would do was making sure that Widow got a  _fair_ choice.

And so it happened that Lena left in a much brighter mood than she came. She walked around the corner of the corridor leading away from the command center and headed for the elevator. Not a second after she had pressed the button the doors already opened, and Lena was happy to see DVa standing inside already. She was wearing her usual skintight jumpsuit, unzipped and halfway hanging around her hips. Underneath she opted for a grey cropped top showing much of DVa's perfectly flat and well toned belly. Her dark brown hair was pulled up in a messy topknot, while she had a lollipop almost clenched between her teeth.

"Unni!" DVa exclaimed happily, taking the lollipop out of her mouth "How are you?"

"Great, Hana, thank you." Lena replied with a smile. She had to admit, DVa was really good looking. Just the right combination of sexy tease and cute innocence.

"I'm heading for the shooting range," Hana explained, "want to join?"

Tracer had nothing better to do and she could use some practice anyway, so she nodded. "Sure thing, luv. Let's go."

The two women felt the elevator moving again and after a few moments the doors opened, letting them step out of the glass cylinder into the workshop of Torbjörn, where the old engineer was, as usual, busy at work.

Surprising was only the project he was currently working on. The dwarf was standing on a stool behind a person Lena would recognize in her sleep. Torbjörn was apparently busy adjusting something on the neck of the uniform that person was wearing, while said person was holding her long, purple hair out of the way.

"Tell me if it's too tight, will you?" Torbjörn mumbled into his beard. "Would be a shame if I'd strangle you to death."

" _Oui, Oui._ It's alright _._  You'd notice if you were close to strangling me." Was Widow's dry reply. Torbjön only chuckled, probably imagining how she'd kick his ass off the stool and into the next wall in an equally violent and graceful roundhouse kick.

Tracer had to admit that she hadn't at all expected to find her gorgeous girlfriend down here in Torb's workshop. Not that she was about to complain. Oh no, definitely not. She couldn't help but smile goofily as she took in Widowmaker's new outfit. It was made of a shining leathery material and kept mostly in black, except for some red parts which seemed to stylize a corset. There was a utility belt filled with various gimmicks hanging around Widow's amazing hips, armored boots up to her knees and precision gloves. A combat knife was strapped to Widow's upper left thigh and attached to the utility belt were also straps securing a currently empty holster to her other thigh. The dark leather, at least Lena hoped it was leather, for it was rather shiny, wasn't the only kind of protection to Widowmaker's new getup. There was an elaborate looking metal system running down her spine and over her shoulders, closing around her neck. The one Torbjörn was currently working on.

"Oi, why didn't you tell me you'll be outfitted for cool new gear?" Lena asked as she walked up to Widowmaker. Her girlfriend looked smoking. Tracer liked it a lot. So much in fact that she completely missed DVa's condescending expression.

"I didn't know myself." Widowmaker shrugged. "That grumpy old man abducted me."

"Don't move!" Torbjörn exclaimed, ignoring the jab in his direction. It wasn't like he could really argue with him being a little grumpy from time to time. "I'm still adjusting those microsensors!" he admonished, grumbling something about not letting Widow run around in backless pink latex, like Talon thought it was acceptable. He might have used the term  _whoring around_ as well as  _sick asshats._

" _Desolé._ " Widow said and had a one sided smile on her lips, casting a small glance over to Hana. "What's with the cloudy face,  _gosse_?"

"Why would I be happy to see  _you_  of all people?" Hana snapped "You're just a mean bully!" she hissed, earning a tired sigh from Tracer. How was she supposed to convince DVa that Widowmaker wasn't the enemy anymore? And even more importantly, how was she supposed to let her know that they were quite the opposite of enemies and had been for quite some time. It wasn't like they could just kiss randomly in front of DVa. Then again, that had worked for the rest of the Watchpoint, too.

Torbjörn in the meantime gave the piece on Widow's neck a careful, but still strong tug, before he climbed off his stool. "All set and done." He declared proudly, walking over to the counter and tossing Widow her rifle. The colors were now fitting to her new outfit. "And take that rifle for a test, would you? Got rid of the charging sequence. Instant full power. Those Talon engineers must have had shit for brains, I'm telling you. Charging a shot. Pah! Ridiculous." He said, clapping his hands together, turning his attention to DVa. "And you, girl, why don't you cut her some slack, eh?" he asked with a perked up eyebrow, looking intensely at the young Asian.

Hana wanted to reply something, but she was caught so off guard by the question that nothing really came to mind. Why didn't she cut Widow some slack? Because she was evil and because she was always around Lena and because she had such an evil smirk on her lips and because... because she was a full grown woman with all the right curves in all the right places. Hana Song was jealous. Jealous of Tracer's attention which the blue bitch seemed to get so easily for some reason and jealous of her womanly assets, too. Not that she could just say that.

In that moment there was a beeping noise coming from out of Torbjörn's adjacent workshop. Metal was rattling loudly and a few moments later Bastion came waddling into the armory, the lamp on his head flashing rapidly and making panicked beeping noises. The machine moved over to Torbjörn, beeping even faster while gesturing wildly with its metal arms. The Swedish engineer rose a single finger and Bastion shut up. His eyes didn't leave DVa, who was looking back and forth between him and Bastion. "What's your problem with her?" Torbjörn demanded.

"She's evil, that's my problem." DVa replied, glaring at Widow who was merely rolling her eyes, obviously more annoyed than threatened.

Suddenly someone came out of the workshop again. This time it was an extremely annoyed Symmetra, who was stalking over to Bastion and Torbjörn. "I know it stings, but we need to get this done. You know it's the only way we can understand what makes you unique!" she said to Bastion, pulling on his arm. "Come along now you walking ball of chaos." She insisted, but Bastion, being the two ton machine he was, didn't move even an inch. He instead only beeped at Torbjörn again, as he was pleading that the Engineer would say something.

"Don't look at me like that! Now go with Satya here and get it over with." He said. Bastion only beeped again in a defeated manner, before he turned around funnily and reluctantly waddled back, following Symmetra.

"So, to you that Bastion is evil, too? Cause it didn't strike me as evil, you? Did it shoot you? Did it try to hurt you?" Torbjörn tapped his prosthetic hand on to Dva's stomach. "hm?"

"No, but-"

"Did Amélie?"

"She held a knife to my throat!" DVa exclaimed.

The accused woman chuckled. "I was teaching you a valuable lesson. You should have paid attention, maybe it will save your life one day." Widow said, walking over to Lena who up until now didn't say much. She felt like if she said something she'd automatically pick a side. Which she didn't want to do. She didn't want to make either Widow nor Hana feel like she took the other's part. "Anyway, as  _interesting_  as this is, why don't we all go and use that shooting range?" she suggested. "A little competition, what do you say,  _chérie_?" she purred into Lena's ear, making her skin tingle with anticipation.

"Sounds good to me. C'mon Hana, let's see who's best."

"We already know that" Widow grinned, pointing at the scoreboard behind her, showing her at the very top with a huge distance to Ana Amari on the second place.

"Let's see who is best at shooting a pistol." Lena specified.

"Oh… well, ok we'll have to wait and see then." Widow shrugged, pulling Lena along with her toward the shooting range, one hand holding Lena's, the other one carrying her rifle.

-/-

" _non, non, non_ " Widow sighed, stepping behind Hana. "This is not your silly robot which shoots plasma all over the place. What you need to do is aim properly."

"I  _am._ " DVa hissed, trying to make the assassin go away by stepping back a little. Which only served to make her walk right into the French woman.

"You're spraying and praying, little girl." Amélie said with a roll of her eyes. "Never do that. Your little plasma pistol doesn't have a lot of recoil, but trust me, should you ever shoot a real gun, you're going to break your pretty little ankles."

"That's why I use the plasma pistol, duh." Hana snapped. She didn't want Widow to talk to her like she was some complete noob. Even though she was rationally aware of just how much more experience the older assassin had, Hana didn't want to hear it.

"Shut up and listen." Amélie shoved Hana forward a little using her body while reaching around her waist and pushing her arms into a different position. Hana froze at the cold touch. For it felt like she had just been touched by death himself. Widowmaker completely ignored the Asian's hesitation, as she continued. "Hold your pistol with two hands, one goes here." Widowmaker moved Hana's hand, "the other here." She explained. "You're right handed,  _oui_?"

"uh..." Hana stuttered, not really sure what was going on all of a sudden. Sure, she understood what Widow was trying to do, that she was about to tell her how to shoot properly, but that information just didn't compute. She glanced over to the shooting range next to her where Tracer had just put a tight group down range. The former Pilot holstered her weapon and proceeded to lean against Hana's booth, giving her an encouraging nod. "Listen to Amélie, she knows her craft." Lena smiled, yet DVa wasn't sure who she had smiled at exactly. It could have just as well been Widow. Why was Tracer so nice to that woman, Hana wondered. There was  _nothing_  likeable about her.

"Do I mumble, girl?" Widow's hiss into DVa's ear snapped her back to reality immediately. "Are you right handed?" she was asked.

"Sure…" Hana replied, swallowing heavily.

"Then why is your holster on the left?" Widow asked, and Hana could almost feel the other woman's golden eyes burn a hole into her back. "Never cross draw unless you're sitting a lot or have a shoulder holster. Do you have a shoulder holster?  _Non_ , you don't. Neither do you sit. So, switch." She explained evenly, while already grabbing DVa's belt mounted holster and moving it to the other side. It happened so fast that DVa couldn't even protest.

"Holster your gun." Widow ordered, her voice so sharp and commanding that, for some reason, Hana just did it. "Draw again." The assassin told her, and Hana obliged. "Notice how fast that was?"

Hana had to swallow a snarky reply, as she had to admit that it was indeed both easier and faster to draw her sidearm the way Widowmaker had showed her. The reason why she had been wearing her sidearm on the left side for too long was Korean military protocol. In theory Mekka pilots were supposed to draw their sidearm while being ejected from their destroyed robot. A feat which was more easily accomplished by cross drawing. In actual combat it quickly turned out that no one actually did draw while being ejected and instead opted for getting the fuck away from an exploding war machine and toward cover. If the machine had been destroyed in a situation, a handgun would do nothing against the enemy either way.

"See, seems like I do know a thing or two after all, right?" Widow chuckled, glancing over to Tracer who was casually right next to them, watching her girlfriend.

For Lena it was more than intriguing to watch how Amélie showed DVa the proper way to handle her handgun with maximum efficiency. To anyone else witnessing this, it might have seemed like someone had told Widowmaker to show Hana some tricks and the assassin was grudgingly following her orders. The way Hana's hands were almost roughly moved into the correct positions and how Widow didn't say a word more than what was strictly necessary to explain why and how some things should or shouldn't be done made it easy to assume that Widow didn't want to do this.

To Tracer it was something else entirely. She knew that no one, not even her, had told Widow that she should show DVa some tricks. It was Amélie who had decided to share. The fact that she was always saying a few brief words to Hana with each step she pushed the younger woman into, was enough for Lena to be sure of what was going on. Widowmaker, despite most likely taking every effort to claim the complete opposite should she ever be put on the spot, liked DVa enough to care about her safety during battle. Though, if Widow herself decided Hana would be worth liking or if she simply did it for Lena's sake was difficult to say. Still, Tracer had a wide smile on her lips while she watched Amélie talk Hana through the process of advanced arm positioning for perfect transit between long range shooting with a hand gun and close quarter scenarios.

Then she let go of Hana's arms and hands and told her to go through the postures on her own a few times. Under Widow's watchful eye, DVa did as she was told, while Amélie walked the two steps separating her from Lena and leaned against the wall of the shooting range right next to Lena.

" _Bien._ You got it. Still a bit amateurish, but you are on the right way. Keep practicing and one day you might even hit what you aim at." Widow stated with a smirk. Hana's mouth opened and closed. "Usually that's the part where you say thank you or something to express your gratitude." Widow stated and felt the nudge from Lena in her sides. She stealthily moved her hand to counter-attack, poking her girlfriend in the side.

"I… yes, thank you." Hana managed.

"You're welcome." Widow replied, feeling how Lena caught her hand in her own and leaned closer toward her. "I told you, you're good at that teaching stuff. You should really consider a position as an instructor." Lena murmured.

"Yeah, and I told you, I'd rather hang myself." Widow replied, completely forgetting about Hana still being right there next to them, as she leaned in closer to her girlfriend. "Sooo, who is the best of us with a handgun?"

"Jesse McCree." Lena giggled, getting a faked gasp of surprise from Amélie.

"Is that right?" she hummed, letting her hands run down Tracer's shoulders and snaking them around her waist, pulling her a little closer. "Maybe I have to practice my manual work then, hmm?" she whispered into Lena's ear, her voice soft as silk, before carefully biting into Lena's earlobe.

If nothing before caught Hana's attention, the wanton moan, which suddenly escaped Lena's lips, surely did. Her eyes went wide as saucers and she couldn't believe what she was seeing. A wave of confusion and a weird sense of protectiveness washed over Hana. This wasn't real. She was imagining things, Widow didn't nibble at Lena's earlobe, why would she? It was ridiculous. Stupid. Silly. And exactly what was happening.

"W-what the hell are you doing?!" DVa demanded of Widowmaker. "What is wrong with you?!" she shouted, feeling her jealousy peak for some reason. It wasn't right! Why was Lena allowing that? "Leave her alone!" she was about to grab Amélie's shoulder and yank her away with all of her force, when Widow turned around, staring at Hana with an expression of mixed rage and curiosity. Not an expression on Widow's face one wanted directed at them. Not at all. And surely not DVa, who had already dealt with the business end of the assassin's knife.

"Hana…" Lena spoke up, suddenly remembering two very important details. Firstly, she had never corrected her friend's assumption that Lena was straight as a dry spaghetti and in a relationship with a guy. And second, Hana was somewhere else when Widow and her made their relationship publically known.

Which created the mildly awkward situation they found themselves in right now. Hana feeling the need to protect her role model from the big bad assassin. Said assassin feeling the need to slap the living daylights out of the annoying pest who dared to interrupt her moment with Lena and of course Lena herself, who wanted to slap herself for being stupid. She should have  _thought_ about that. But she didn't.

" _Unni_ , why are you letting her do this?" Hana asked, looking back and forth between Lena and Amélie, taking in the way they were standing too close to each other, a blue hand held in a white one. Something wasn't right here. "You said that... I mean when you came back from Numbani... Don't you have a boyfriend?"

Widowmaker couldn't hold her laughter in when she heard that completely ridiculous statement from the Asian. Yes... Numbani. Boyfriend? Not so much. It was amazing how much the truth could be twisted and still be completely void of logical holes the size of a mountain. She leaned closer to Lena once again. "Yes, Lena, tell us about your  _boyfriend._ " She purred, letting her finger run up and down Tracer's arm. "What's he like? Your beloved  _boyfriend?_ "

Lena shot Amélie a nasty glare.  _So not fair, luv. So not fair._

"Bloody hell." she sighed. It was high time to clear some things up once and for all. Where to start, though? Where to start... "Hana listen, I don't have a boyfriend. Not really. I mean, I have a relationship, but not a boyfriend." She started, not sure how she was going to put it. It had been a mistake to not just tell DVa from the very beginning that she didn't swing that way. But it was just so difficult, each time the opportunity presented itself Tracer felt like she would ruin Hana's world. And now there was little else she could do but tell her friend the truth.

Hana frowned deeply.  _No boyfriend? Relationship?_ "Wait, are you married already?" Hana tried. "But that's even worse! You-"

"No, Hana, I'm not married either. And I don't have a boyfriend." Lena sighed. "See, I never had a boyfriend in my life. Not once. But I've had dozens of relationships." She explained, hoping Hana would catch on to what she was trying to say. Why Lena just didn't say what she was trying to describe was beyond herself. It didn't feel right to just tell Hana to her face.

"What are you talking about, Unni? I don't understand, you said-"

She was interrupted by Widowmaker " _Tu ne peux pas être aussi stupide_." She whispered, before reaching up to gently turn Lena's face toward her and bringing their lips together in a gentle, loving kiss with only a little bit of tongue. It was nothing like the scandalous show-off kiss they shared in the mess hall the same morning.

"Do you understand that?" Amélie asked, after she slowly pulled back, but making it a point to still maintain body contact with Lena. "She doesn't have a boyfriend, because she doesn't like boys. She's a lesbian. And I'm her 'boyfriend' if you want. Just not a boy. At least last time I checked."

Hana could only stare at the kiss and the lewdness and how wrong and against everything she had been taught this all was. But despite that she couldn't help but feel a weird heat rising into her head and appearing as a hot blush on her face. "U-Unni… you're…" She stammered. This was  _huge._ It was impossible, yet so very clear now. How had Hana missed that? How?

"Listen, I didn't want to lie to you, it's just, I never had a chance to tell you and it always seemed to be the wrong time to tell you. You were so euphoric. Sorry. But yes, I'm gay. Very.  _Very_. Gay."

"And very, very taken." Amélie added.

Hana looked back and forth between the two women, obviously stunned out of her mind. She had no idea what to think about that. "She's your girlfriend?" she gasped, pointing at Widowmaker.

Suddenly so much made sense. Why Tracer never said anything against Widowmaker, why she always defended the assassin, why she always allowed her close and why they always kept looking at each other. So many things that had gotten DVa so very jealous because she feared for her friend were suddenly self explanatory. They had a secret relationship. A secret love affair. Like in the books Hana sometimes read! Maybe even better! And it even worked, they pulled it off! Somewhere in the back of her mind that knowledge gave Hana so much hope for herself, yet she didn't register that specific feeling. Instead she noticed how all that built up jealousy simply... vanished. It was no more. "You're together? A couple." She repeated, this time a lot more sure in the matter, the words not feeling as strange on her tongue as she thought they would.

Lena nodded with a happy smile on her lips. And what a happy smile it was. Not just on Lena, but the expression on Widow too, the way those two looked at each other for but an instant. It wasn't lost on DVa. She saw it and began to understand even more. They were happy. They had what everyone wanted. What Hana desired herself and what she thought she could maybe have found in Lucio. At least until he died, and Hana was forced to realize that he had been little more than a silly girl's crush.

But if Lena was... if she was seeing another girl. If someone like the one and only Lena Oxton could do that and not be bothered for it, maybe...

A sudden thought randomly appeared in her mind, completely overriding each and any other thought she had before. Before Hana had the chance to filter what her brain had so suddenly, and so rudely, sprung on her, she had already opened her mouth and said:

"Wait, so Widowmaker was the one in your room when I knocked and you opened the door naked!" Hana slapped her hand on her mouth, but it was already said. She flushed a deep red all over her face, not knowing why her mind decided to take such a dive into the naughty. It wasn't her business at all! She should neither have asked nor should she have cared!

"Yes, that was her." Lena admitted, feeling only a little bit uncomfortable with the question. There might have been a little of red color on her cheeks as well. It wasn't like she was ashamed or something, but it felt awkward to simply be told:  _Hey! You two fucked!_

"Oh my god, Unni. I said so many mean things about her to you! And you never said anything!"

"I'm not sure who should be more offended about this. Her or me." Amélie offered, putting an arm around her girlfriend's waist.

"Her." Dva decided. "You still are still evil, and I'll do… I'll do...  _something_  to you if you hurt her." Hana stated, frowning at her own nonsense, before she turned and almost ran away.

-/-

**Pacific Ocean, Talon swimming special operation base, early afternoon.**

Reaper was drumming his fingers on the wooden plate of his desk, while he was listening to two of his Lieutenants giving their preliminary report about a recent mission to Columbia they had conducted. It wasn't surprising that it had been a striking success. Reaper couldn't afford to sabotage all of his missions. In fact, he only did so in very are cases. Usually the assignments he handed out were fulfilled the way he wanted them to be done, thanks to a more than formidable selection of competent employees.

This time was no different. His operatives had spent quite some time to weave invaluable connections to some of the most powerful Columbian syndicates. With some careful blackmail, bribery and assassination, Talon was able to procure a reliable source of income, utilizing the always flourishing drug business. It was an easy trade, logistics and the possibility of utilizing Talon's vast information network in exchange for a small fee.

Where the money came from was all the same to Reaper. Since he had executed the board of directors, they had gained so much flexibility, but had also lost a substantial part of their funding. It wasn't the majority of their income, but Reaper didn't want to take any chances. The thing with money was that you could never have enough. There was never a point where more wouldn't be better.

He waited until one of the Lieutenants was done giving his verbal report.

"Any complications during the mission I need to be aware of?" Reaper grumbled, leaning forward in his chair and placing his gloved hands on top of his desk. Had his eyes been visible, they would have pierced his agents with intensity.

"None, Sir. Everything according to plan. The cartels are playing ball." The one stated sharply, before the other added: "No witnesses, just as you ordered. Should one not hold up their end of the bargain, we will dispose of them."

"Excellent work." Reaper nodded. "I expect your written reports within the day."

"Yes, Sir." The two said in unison and dismissed themselves.

Reaper leaned back in his chair again, allowing himself a short moment to relax. Ever since he had talked to Morrison about the Volskaya mission and the implications of the faked intel he had been given, Reaper knew that something would happen. The only unknown was when that would be. The last few days were spent entirely on making sure that there was no hard evidence for his 'betrayal'. Not that it was a real betrayal, he never worked for Talon in the first place. A point of view which might have been up to discussion for Talon's big boss. Be that as it may, Reaper was certain that the only reasons someone would doubt his loyalty was the Volskaya mission, which in itself didn't have any hard evidence either. If anyone suspected something, it couldn't be more than a hunch.

A hunch could be, in theory at least, easily dismissed by proper actions.

Sure, Volskaya was dead and Reaper also had a report indicating that she had worked for Talon. But concluding from only this and not a whole lot more that he had given that intel to Overwatch, so they could get rid of Volskaya, just like they had gotten rid of Mei, was a far fetch.

Then again, the big boss would be paranoid enough to come to that conclusion. That he was also spot on with his paranoia, wasn't even the point. Reaper needed a way to convince the mastermind behind Talon that he was very much loyal to the cause. But how? Reaper knew that his boss liked two things: decisive actions and strength. Whoever it was pulling the strings in the shadows preferred makers over talkers. Which was definitely something Gabriel Reyes was able to work with.

"Mr. Reyes?" A timid female voice interrupted his musings. Reaper refocused his attention to his office and saw Gerda approaching with a silver tray carrying a can of coffee, two cups and a plate of biscuits. Self made. Gerda always made them herself. If this were the 50s and if Gerda wouldn't have been brainwashed, she would have been the perfect wife. Attentive, loving, always there when you needed her.

"Ah, Gerda." He said and tried to sound positive. The woman deserved better. He tried to make her life as comfortable as possible, but he doubted that his efforts were really going anywhere. It wasn't like he could give her a raise, since she wasn't paid, or send her on a nice vacation, since she had none.

Reaper regarded the two cups on the tray. "Will you join me for coffee?" he asked and raised an eyebrow behind his mask. Gerda's head shot up from placing the dishes on a small coffee-table next to Reaper's desk. She was sporting a bright red flush on her cheeks.

"N-no, Mas- mister Reyes, sorry! I'd l-love to, but you have a guest."

"Really? I don't-"  _give a shit._  Reaper was interrupted by a deep chuckle coming from the door. The dark silhouette of a huge, muscled man leaning to the doorframe could only belong to a single person, there was no doubt about it.

"Long time no see,  _Reaper_." The man said with incredibly deep voice. "I'm almost insulted that you never called. And here I thought we were friends."

Reaper rose from his seat and slowly walked around his desk, subtly giving Gerda a push so she was standing behind him. "Akande Ogundimu." He said in an overly calm manner, his rough, hollow voice cutting through the room in an eerie way. "I didn't request you." He stated matter-of-factly, indicating that he wouldn't mind if Doomfist would just fuck off again.

"You didn't." Akande replied with a devious smirk on his thick lips, his eyes trained on Reaper, who calmly walked in front of his desk just to lean against it in a casual manner. "I'm afraid the boss sent me." He popped his knuckles. " He has been a little... displeased with your loyalty recently. Even denied its existence. And you know what that means."

His mask hid the devious smirk that tugged on Reaper's lips.  _Now there is an idea,_ he thought and couldn't stop a vicious chuckle from forming in his throat. He knew what would happen now, knew it without a shadow of a doubt, and it would suit his purposes just perfectly.

Luckily, he had thought long and hard about the best way to prove his loyalty to the big boss and keep his cover in position. It did take him some major 'what if' thinking, but he came up with a plan he thought would work. The fact that Reaper had never asked for the position of Talon's de-facto head was really playing into his hands. "Oh, that's what this is about?" he asked, cracking his gloved knuckles. The fact that Reaper's perfect alibi would just walk into the room was almost funny.

"Indeed." Doomfist replied grinning. Reaper could already see the excitement in his eyes, burning for the fight. They never really got along.

"Let's get it over with, shall we? I have other things to do." Reaper said in a casual way, waiting for Doomfist to strike. He didn't have to wait long. The next moment Akande charged at him with full speed and a thundering battle cry.

Vaguely aware of Gerda screaming in terror Reaper didn't waste time concentrating on her. She was alright where she stood, and this would be over quickly. There was no need to pay extra attention to her protection. Reaper knew for sure that there was no way the maid would be harmed in this fight. At least not judging from the angle Doomfist was approaching him at and neither from the distance they both had from the maid. Certainly not if he had any say in the matter. No, Gerda had nothing to fear.

That wasn't to say that Akande wasn't a worthy adversary. That would have been an incredibly foolish assumption. The kind of foolishness that got people killed. Doomfist was extremely proficient at what he was doing, so much was true without the slightest shadow of a doubt. He was an exemplary martial artist, strong willed, quick on his feet and with fast reflexes. A truly powerful opponent, which would require Reaper's full attention. That wasn't to say that Doomfist wasn't without any weaknesses. The most obvious and gravest being his self-overestimating arrogance founded once in his undeniable strength and success, but ever outgrowing the extent of his true capabilities. Arrogance matching one's skills made them intimidating. Arrogance surpassing one's skills got them killed. It the first of the deadly sins for a reason.

Akande tended to attack quickly, trying to end a fight just as fast as he began it. He tried to use his power and speed to overwhelm his opponent and in doing so, he usually allowed himself to show off, exaggerating his movements more than it was necessary.

That first deadly sin was what Reyes planned to use against his adversary. It wasn't like he had no advantages over Doomfist. There were still plenty of aces up his sleeve.

Reaching out Reaper attempted to grab Akande's neck, knowing that this attempt would be blocked. As expected, his rival quickly rose his hands to block Reyes' assault. What Doomfist didn't take into consideration was that Reaper would easily be able to turn his body into a mass of dark smoke. Not only that, but by raising his hands to protect his throat, Doomfist left the rest of his body wide open.

The whole fight happened so fast that Gerda, standing on the sidelines and staring in utter disbelieve had no idea how Doomfist suddenly ended up pinned to Reaper's desk. To her it was all just one big bang and some smoke before the huge African man was disabled. If she had blinked, she'd have missed it.

What the maid didn't know was that Reyes had punched Akande hard into the sensitive spot under where his kidneys lay while he simultaneously re-materialized his hand around Doomfist's throat. Using the black man's own momentum against him, Reaper swung him around and slammed him onto his desk.

Bone and flesh were colliding with wood and one had to give way.

It was an old, heavy oak wood desk. Nothing which would break unless you decided to drive a full sized battle tank over it.

Akande's bones gave way, being pushed into his body and cracking a little. It served to knock the air straight out of his lungs, making him see stars for a moment.

Before he could regain his senses from the hard punch to his kidneys he already felt the cold end of a shotgun barrel pressed to his chest. Reaper pressed the gun deep into his flesh and growled. "If the boss wants me gone, he can tell me to leave. I don't need my loyalty questioned by the likes of  _you,_  scum."

Gerda flinched at the loud sound of Reaper's shotgun going off. She took a moment before she dared to look back again. The scene was a mess. Luckily nowhere near as bad as the conference Reaper cleared up in Berlin, but still a gory mess. Doomfist lay dead on the desk, a big pool of dark red blood spreading on top of it, soaking into some of Reaper's documents and quickly starting to drip off the edges to the floor. For a moment Gerda was disgusted at herself that she worried more about the documents than the man her master had just killed. Then again, he tried to kill the man who protected her, who was good to her and who treated her right. Why would she care what happened to the assailant?

"Gerda?" Reaper spoke up, his voice strangely calming to the maid.

"Yes, Master?" she replied quickly and cringed a little that she called him master again. He had told her so many times that she shouldn't do that.

"Would you be so kind and give me that tray you brought please? And a sharp knife."

-/-

 

[Klickable Tippeee is clickabl](https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction)e

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> "You exaggerate what happened at the shooting range, patate"
> 
> -But only a little. Besides, it's supposed to be entertaining.
> 
> "tsk. Maybe. But you're also supposed to give me more attention than your typewriter."
> 
> -Isn't Lena supposed to give you attention?
> 
> "She is. And she does."
> 
> -See? So what do you need me for?
> 
> "Forget it."
> 
> Aaaand there she goes… Oh well, now what did I do wrong this time? Hell if I knew.
> 
> Alrighty, my friends, first things first, let me thank you all for your amazing support and all the fucking epic feedback you are giving me. I love you all! 
> 
>  
> 
> Urgh, I have to say so much for this chapter, forgive me, haha. My beta is back! Which is amazing! Thank you very much for all your help, Jfb! I'd like to quote him real quick on the whole Doomfist thing: "RIP Doomfist. It was almost like, hey here's Doomfis... and he's dead." That made me laugh. Ok, before you all start demanding my head for killing a badass like Doomfistmedaddy so quickly, two thoughts: Reaper is an undead fucking war-machine who can turn himself to smoke, teleport, and create shotguns from nothing. How would he lose against someone with a fist? It's Doomfist, not One Punch Man. Plus: When I wrote the story draft, there was no Doomfist at all, simply because he didn't exist yet. I try my best to adjust and fit the new releases into the story somehow. So, for me, it's a plus that I managed to get Doomfist in the story at all.
> 
> Alright, I'll shut up now. Thank you all once again.
> 
> Should you want to finance yet another Ferrari:
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction (you can click above)
> 
> Oh, before I forget it: Someone told me it was a bad idea to ask for donations. Dude, I always said that I'm not asking for it. You can do it if you want. It's there because I got multiple requests from people who wanted to donate. Fine by me. I do this as a hobby and it will always be the greatest reward to get feedback. I never expect anyone to donate and I am not asking you to do so either. Do it if you want, or don't. The link is there for those who want to. 
> 
> that's it from me for today!
> 
> Have a good one, and I'll see you all in the next one
> 
> o7
> 
> E82
> 
> -/-
> 
>  
> 
> Translations:
> 
> gosse (Frech) = kid.
> 
> Tu ne peux pas être aussi stupide (French) = You can't possibly be this stupid.


	44. The Dark Star protocol

**Watchpoint: Gibraltar, three days later, early afternoon**

Lena walked into the infirmary with a joyous bounce in her step. She somehow felt relieved of a great burden. A burden in form of the secrecy Widow and she felt they had to upkeep at the Watchpoint. It was now gone, and it felt great. It wasn't like they were about to repeat they stunt of making out right in the middle of the mess hall, but it was nice to enjoy some much needed closeness outside their quarters. Like walking closer to each other, not having to wonder who might see them stealing glances and being able to at least pull off small displays of public affection. A quick peck, holding hands, wrapping an arm around the waist. Small things like that. It made all the difference.

Maybe Tracer imagined it, because she wished it would be true, but somehow, she distinctly felt that the people at the Watchpoint treated Amélie better too. That she wasn't subjected to as many animosities as before.

If anything, the entire coming out as a couple in front of everyone served one purpose: It cleared all suspicions Widow might have had where Lena's priorities were. And if that was the only thing she achieved, it would have been worth it.

Lena's mood was off the charts and she knew for a fact that her girlfriend too was happy. At least she had been when Tracer had said goodbye the day before. Mercy had been doing another procedure on Widow to get rid of all the shit Talon implanted into her. Something about mental inhibitors and controllers, Lena didn't understand half of what Mercy had said. Compared to her best friend, Lena almost seemed daft. Which wasn't difficult considering that Mercy's IQ was probably high enough to fuck up the scale.

All Lena knew was that the procedure was not free of risks, but since Angela was more than positive about the outcome, Lena decided it would help no one if she would worry needlessly.

It might have sounded weird, but she knew that Widow was alright. She could almost feel it. That's why she didn't worry when she entered the infirmary and spotted Dr. Ziegler sitting behind her marble desk, making quick notes with her exquisite pen. Lena's best friend looked good in her lab coat and the black glasses she was wearing. Not that there was a chance of Angela looking even remotely bad in any other getup. There had been a time where Lena would have made a flirty comment about that, but not today.

"Heya, luv." Tracer said, leaning against Angela's desk with a bright smile. She only now noticed the bouquet of truly magnificent roses sitting in a black vase on her desk. The flowers were of dark color and the buds at the perfect point of opening without being completely open yet. The petals had an almost magical shimmer to them, their dark red managing to reflect light in a glistering way.

" _Morgen_." Angela said without looking up from her paperwork. "Amélie is fine, you can go to her." She added, knowing exactly that her best friend wasn't here for small talk with her. However, Mercy was surprised when she noticed that Lena didn't immediately teleport over to her lover.

"Who gave you those flowers?" the pilot asked instead and had a shit eating smirk on her face. A smirk which usually meant that Tracer was on to something she thought would be worth pushing some of Mercy's buttons. "They are beautiful." She noted innocently.

Angela felt her cheeks burning up at the thought of who gave those roses to her. They were from Fareeha, who had made an effort to try and sound like she had only been giving them to Angela to thank her for all the help, the therapy, the training sessions and the endless patience. Mercy didn't need to be the genius she was to immediately understand that the reason for Pharah's gift was an entirely different one. Maybe the looks Fareeha kept stealing, when she thought that Angela didn't notice, were an indicator. Maybe it was because the Egyptian warrior wasn't fully healed yet, which meant that logically there was no reason to provide a thank you gift. Maybe it was just a gut feeling Mercy had. The doctor was sure that there was more to Fareeha's gift than she admitted.

The question was, did Angela understand the true meaning of this gift correctly? Was she imagining things? And most importantly, what of those two options did she want to be true?

" _Ja._  They are." Angela replied, nervously playing with her pen and completely ignoring the question regarding the roses' origin. She watched her best friend studying the flowers, bent forward with her arms crossed behind her back, obviously intent to smell their sweet scent. "Lena?" Mercy asked in a serious voice, causing Tracer to turn her head toward her best friend.

"Hu?" She replied while straightening up again.

"I... I need your advice on something... private. If you could perhaps stop by after you visited Amélie... I'd greatly appreciate that."

Lena beamed at her for a moment. That pure, unguarded smile which managed to light up a completely dark room. "Sure thing! Is everything alright?"

"Yes, of course." Angela blushed again and took a deep breath. "It's about... can we discuss this when you come back?"

"You got it. I'll stop by in a bit then. Want to get some coffee then?"

"Sounds good. Thank you, Lena."

"Who are you thanking here, eh? Goes without saying!" And with that Lena was off to dote on Amélie for an hour or two.

-/-

* * *

 

**The next day:**

In the prison block Sombra had yet again a visitor. She had no idea why, but for some reason Hana came back to her every day, often enough stopping the ongoing interrogation after hours of endless questioning. Not that she was about to complain, because Reinhardt was definitely starting to lose his patience. An added bonus to the end of the interrogations was that Sombra found the company of the Asian pro gamer to be rather nice, if not to say desirable. Hana might have been a little on the tsundere side as far as character clichés went, but Sombra didn't mind. She had an easy enough time to see what DVa really meant when she tried to be mean or rude to her. It was actually kind of adorable and Sombra found herself wondering if they could have been more than some sort of strange friends had they met at another time, at another place, in another life.

But they hadn't. Now she had to make the best of it.

Still, a girl could dream. Maybe entertain the thought for a while. Maybe pretend that she wasn't locked up at Gibraltar. Maybe that they were in her home town, enjoying a long walk on the beach at night with the city lights faintly illuminating the night sky and a fresh breeze carrying away the heat of the day, cooling them off. They'd argue, laugh, maybe shove each other playfully before they'd end up in the warm sand and in each other's arms.

"And I won! Again." Hana laughed, jerking Sombra out of her daydreaming. She wished she was there at the beach. With Hana. But Sombra knew that for some reason she had to be here. There was a voice whispering in her ear, a voice she knew too well. She had to stay here.

The wide spread smile on DVa's face quickly faded as she set aside the controller to the game console she had brought along. She thought something to take Sombra's mind off the whole business of being locked up and interrogated all the time would help her. "Olivia?" Hana asked carefully as she noticed that the hacker had stared idly ahead for a while, not even trying to play the game.

"Oh, I guess you're just better than I am." Sombra was quick to put on a fake smile. "Maybe I need those gloves to win after all, hmm" she said, poking DVa playfully. It was wrong. She should listen to her own advice. Don't grow attached. But Olivia Colomar couldn't help it. If anything, she wanted a friend. Someone who liked her for who she was. Unconditionally. She wanted it so bad.

"You aren't even trying." Hana pouted. "If you don't like the game, we can do something else."

"Oh, I don't mind the game."  _As long as you're the company._  Olivia smiled warmly, her mesmerizing purple eyes sparkling in a way that told Hana that there was so much more to it than what Sombra admitted out loud. That her hacker friend wanted to say something else, something she didn't know how to put to words. DVa didn't quite get what exactly Sombra tried to tell her with that look on her face. A look she was relatively certain wasn't even a conscious decision. All Hana knew was that it caused her stomach to tingle in a weird way. Like butterflies.

"Are your thoughts even in this room?" she asked, holding Sombra's gaze.

"Nah, not really." Sombra's smile turned into a smirk, as she suddenly flipped her legs up to the bed and placed them over DVa's lap. "Wanna know where I am?"

Hana felt a rush of heat storm through her body and had to fight the urge to stand up and run away. Sombra was teasing her. She was only pressing her buttons, messing with her inexperience and trying to make her uncomfortable. Or at least that was what Hana told herself was going on. She had a hard time convincing herself. "S-Sure."

Sombra took a deep breath but hesitated for only a second. Was she really going to tell Hana about her home town? About the place of her childhood? Where she had lived and where she had always dreamed of going back to? The place which was her mental refuge, her shelter, her safe haven in times of rough weather?

"Well, I'm in an arcade." Sombra lied without missing another beat. It wasn't like the scenario would make a difference. Besides, she doubted DVa would like the sleepy little town Sombra dreamed of. "You know, one of those old shacks with lots of neon lights, filled with all those classics that everyone loves but kinda forgot? Like pinball or dance battle or you know the game where you have to toss a small ball into holes of different sizes?"

"You mean Fire Ball? Yeah, of course I know that." Hana's face lit up. "And the kind of arcade, too! They were always really loud and busy!" DVa called out enthusiastically, the excitement so obviously shining through her eyes that Sombra couldn't even miss it if she closed hers.  _Bingo. Perfect setting._

"Of course it's loud in there, the place is filled with people. It's also really warm, but I still like it there." Sombra explains, while she is moving a little closer to Hana. The ex gamer has no problem envisioning the arcade at all. What Olivia is describing so vividly fits exactly to the kind of place she had spent her childhood in, down to the last detail. "No one knows me, and no one pays me any attention either, so I can easily blend in. I don't really play but I like watching the other players competing with one another. I walk around the arcade and just enjoy being there with no particular goal in mind. That is until I hear someone calling out to a crowd. It's a young woman who is searching for someone with the guts to fight her." Sombra is sneaky as she positions herself almost in Hana's lap without the young woman even noticing. She's too transfixed by Sombra's supposed daydream. "I walk around a corner to check it out. And there she is, standing on a chair of a simulator, with people gathered all around her, while she demands a challenger. Her eyes set on me and mine on her. For some reason I ask her what's in it for me if I win. She's a bit cocky, so she says that I get to pick whatever I want should I win. It's good enough for me. We have the battle. I cheat. I win. She doesn't know I cheated and she's a little humiliated but wants to know my secret. I offer to tell her should she agree to join me for a drink at a nearby bar."

DVa's face was completely flushed over, only now really noticing that they were only centimeters apart from each other. So close that she could feel the warmth of the hacker's skin on her own. "You're a meanie. You cheated yourself into a date!"

"You think she would have said yes if I lost?"

"W-What do I know? It's your daydream!" Hana protested. She was hot. Olivia was so close, and her delicious smell was all around DVa. Her skin tingled and she suddenly had a hard time concentrating. When did Sombra get so close? Those purple eyes. They seemed to consume her, swallow her whole. It felt wrong. It felt so good.

Sombra just smiled, not knowing it sent another rush of heat through the younger woman. "You know what's best about this cell and the daydream?"

"Uh? The console?" DVa tried, seeing the only similarity between both.

"You." Olivia whispered. Hana blinked, large hazel eyes staring at the other woman as a long, silent moment passed between them. Her stomach constricted in a weird manner and Hana felt an overwhelming urge overcome her all of a sudden.

Sombra expected many things, including a slap to her face and being forced to fight her way through a sudden outburst of advanced insults rooted in self-doubt.

But not that Hana would lean forward out of nowhere and press her lips against hers. An electric spark rushed through them both and for a moment Sombra actually felt like she was falling. In the good way, free of all the weight in the world, just drifting in a vast nothingness. The voice whispering inside her head had been silenced by the overwhelming buzz the careful, awkwardly innocent touch caused. Hana's lips were easily the softest thing she had ever touched before, so tender, so careful. A little clumsy, but Olivia could feel the weight of emotion coming with the action. It was hardly more than a chaste peck, which took Sombra by complete surprise.

Maybe a girl could do more than hope. Maybe there was some fairness in the world?

She would have never gone there on her own. Tease, yes. Imply, sure. Maybe push her luck a little, of course. But she would have never actually  _done_ it. It wasn't her place. She had no right.

But DVa obviously thought differently.

And Sombra couldn't believe it. Some part of her brain informed her about the fact that Hana was stiff as a plank and that the kiss felt awkwardly unpracticed, a bit off and more than just a little clumsy.

The moment passed and DVa pulled her head back, with shock written all over her cute face, her eyes torn open in confusion mixed with the still hot red blush on her cheeks.

"I-I-I don't know w-what came over me!" she stammered. "I'm-"  _sorry._

Sombra was quick to press her finger over Hana's lips. It shouldn't have been possible for them to be so soft, but here they were, being just that. Silk was sand paper in comparison.

"That was your first kiss, wasn't it?" Sombra asked in a whisper, managing to only sound a little like she was teasing poor, flustered DVa.

It shouldn't have been possible for Hana to turn even more red in the face, but somehow, it was.

She tried to look away in shame but couldn't. "W-what n-no! Of course not! I kissed plenty of people before! It's not like that, I just-"

"Liar." Sombra moaned and just leaned forward to capture Hana's lips again. This time she was kissing her with no trace of shock or shyness. Parting her lips, she licked over Hana's, her tongue demanding entrance and DVa quickly granted it. Their hot tongues were quick to dance around each other, while Sombra's hand shot up into DVa's hair.

There it was again, the feeling of falling, of being completely at peace with herself and the world. Only Hana was permitted entrance into this magical, weightless realm of tranquility. The moment seemed to go on forever, but never the less passed too quickly.

Neither of them had noticed how they had rolled on top of the bed, DVa somehow landing on top of Sombra, who was breathing heavily. Hana pushed herself up and stared at Sombra with a mix of confusion and disbelieve. What was she doing here? Why was she doing this? This wasn't right. It wasn't. What had possessed her to do that? Maybe Tracer had given her funny ideas with what she did in the shooting range. That didn't make it right, did it? But if it was ok for Lena to do? But…

" _Chica?_ " Sombra whispered, bringing a hand up to caress the younger woman's cheek.

"I can't do this." DVa uttered. "Sorry. I'm sorry, I-" she moved to quickly slide off Sombra and jumped to her feet, backing away from the bed "I'm sorry. I don't know why I did that, I just. I..."

Sombra felt like someone had slapped her. Hard. Publicly. In the face. But then again, what else did she expect? It was better that way. She knew it was. She just didn't understand why it had to feel like the world was punishing her again. Why? She deserved this. She knew it. She hated it.

"At least you got that first kiss from someone who meant it." Sombra said, feigning her flippant self with practiced ease. Deep inside she was hurting. Was it really too much to ask for someone who genuinely liked her? Like maybe Hana seemed to do? It was not fair.

DVa stood in the cell, feeling lost. The room was tiny, yet right now it felt like it was the size of the St. Peter's square and she was standing in the middle. Alone.

_Someone who meant it..._

Her mind was a thunderstorm of conflicting emotions. She didn't know what to do, didn't know what was right and what was wrong, didn't know what was expected of her and had no idea how to proceed. The one voice in her mind told her to grab her legs and run for it, get away and not look back, but the other voice, the much more attractive one told her to stay, to jump onto the bed and snog the living daylights out of Sombra. Because she wanted it, because the gorgeous hacker set her body on fire and it felt like there was only one way to extinguish the flames. A way only Olivia Colomar could provide. She wanted it because it was wrong and forbidden and so not what her father would have approved.

But Sombra was a woman and that wasn't right. Hana didn't know what had happened and how and why she enjoyed it so much. She didn't know why she didn't mind the idea of Tracer doing the same with Widowmaker. DVa knew it was weird that she felt like she was doing something she shouldn't and at the same time had no problem accepting Lena's preferences. Was that hypocritical? But she was comparing herself to Lena Oxton. Tracer. The ever cool, ever so confident ray of sunshine. Everyone liked her. Tracer could do it and not care about what others thought. Hana couldn't. For some reason she didn't understand, she couldn't do it. She only knew that Sombra's touch was warm and gentle, yet demanding at the same time. Her scent was still in Hana's nose and she could still feel the tender touch of Olivia's lips against her own. It was too much. No matter what she claimed, she had never kissed anyone before. Yet she couldn't imagine that a man's lips could have possibly been that soft. She had no way of knowing. So why did she want more?

She wanted it.

She needed it.

But she couldn't do it. She couldn't think straight. She couldn't make a decision. So Hana did what she usually did when she was overwhelmed.

"You told me not to grow attached!" DVa choked out before she turned around and stormed out of the cell in a rush.

Olivia was left behind in the small cell, her longing eyes following the only hope she had of anything remotely normal running away from her. That was to be her fate it would seem. Swallowing the sour lump in her throat down in a painful gulp, Sombra took a deep breath, held it for a moment and let go again. It was for the best, she told herself. This would only end in heartbreak otherwise, she tried to convince herself. That didn't make the dull ache in her chest go away. Olivia had been so close, she had tasted the forbidden fruits of her desires and its sweet taste was still on lingering her tongue. Fading. But very much there.

Rubbing her hands over her face in attempt to help her focus on what she would do now, Sombra looked around in her small cell. Her purple eyes quickly fell on the forgotten gaming console in the room, which Hana had unintentionally left behind because of her hasty departure.

For a moment Sombra gazed at the device with a dull expression.

_Electronics._

Without a warning the remnants of the warm and fuzzy feeling Hana had left in Sombra all but vanished. It was like all the colors drained from her view and there was only the console left which she could focus on. Sombra felt a sharp, entirely unpleasant pull in the back of her mind, like someone was pulling a string glued to the walls of her brain. The comfortable feeling of affection provided by the petite Asian combined with the sour aftertaste of their short shared, but rapidly derailed, moment quickly faded, replaced by a dark and cold cloud of mist rising in her mind. Sombra noticed her hands reaching for the controller, smashing it against the wall to crack it open. Her body felt numb and like it was moving on its own. Why had she destroyed the controller?

Before she knew it Sombra had already started tinkering with its internals, ripping out chips and cables, chewing the isolation off before spitting it to the floor and attaching the cable to some chip. Sombra did those things but didn't know why. She had no other choice. It was like she had suddenly taken a back seat in her own mind and started just watching her body doing something she didn't understand. Sombra wondered what was going on, but still continued her work. It wasn't like this happened for the first time. Not at all. For a moment she was almost glad that  _he_ wasn't here this time.

Just as Sombra had thought about this, she felt like someone was breathing into her ear, sending a shiver through her body, while she worked on some circuit. The whisper was faint at first, unintelligible, but it quickly became clearer.

 _You found Overwatch. This is your chance. Get out of the cell. Find their AI._ She heard the voice in her head, even though it wasn't her own. But Sombra obeyed. As she always did when the voice spoke. She could never change sides. She wanted to, of course, but the voice would never let her. It would never allow it. How did Widowmaker get rid of the voice? How did she-

A sharp pain made Olivia drop that line of thought.

 _Find their AI._ Sombra pulled some more wires out of the console.

 _Find their AI. Use the program stored in your biomimetic drive. Find their AI._ She pressed a button on the device she created. It beeped.

Sombra smirked.

-/-

Sneaking out of her cell was even easier than getting it open. Which in itself had been total child's play.

The tricky part had been to remotely deactivate Athena's surveillance systems without triggering any alarms. Luckily there was a hidden maintenance sub-routine which allowed her to turn the cameras and bio-sensors off for exactly ten minutes. Theoretically plenty of time to find her destination.

The guard positioned outside didn't suspect a thing, so the woman had been quickly overwhelmed. For a moment Sombra had been worried that she might run into Reinhardt – who would have had little problems just slapping her into unconsciousness – but luckily that didn't happen. Now it was only a matter of finding the AI core. Sombra knew that there was an interface in the monkey's lab, but that destination wasn't exactly desirable. Winston would just man-handle her the same way Reinhardt would. A two meter genetically modified gorilla wouldn't have a lot of difficulties with her. Sombra needed to find the actual core, the center of Athena's processing power.

So she snuck into the basement, carefully scurrying from one doorframe to the other, effectively avoiding detection. Her cloaking device would have made things so much easier, but Sombra was proficient in stealth even without having to rely on her tech.

It was painfully obvious that no one had ever thought about the possibility of an infiltrator when Watchpoint: Gibraltar had been designed. If anything, the clearly labeled signs reading 'AI-Core' were a dead giveaway.

Not that Sombra was about to complain, she did have a timeframe after all. Especially if she wanted to make a run for it when she was done. It saved her a lot of risky sneaking around and opening doors to check what was behind them only to find that what she thought might have been the AI-Core was in reality the gentlemen's wet room.

Not that anything like that had ever happened before or something.

Definitely not this time. Sombra reached the door to the AI-Core with ease and was surprised when it opened automatically for her. She did a good job on the bio-sensors it seemed.

The room which lay behind the frozen glass door was, apart from its massive size unexpectedly underwhelming. It was a clinically clean room with shining black tiles on floor and walls. The ceiling was made of a mirroring surface, which made the room seem like it was hanging from the ceiling, too. Sombra looked up at the supposed reflection and noticed that her mirror image was missing. It really was no mirror. The room had double the usual height and hanging from the ceiling were the same neatly stacked, super tidy dark metal server racks that populated the floor. The racks were held in position by strong, decoupled metal pedestals, which eliminated each and every vibration. The sealed black server racks were standing, or hanging, in perfectly aligned rows, reaching deep into the room. The whole setup was super clean, no cables were seen, no coolant pipes visible. The only evidence of what was hidden inside the large metal boxes lay behind their glass sides, granting a view in its insides. Rapidly blinking lights and straight copper tubes were the only thing which Sombra could see.

Apart from her careful steps on the polished floor, the room was completely silent, save for the quiet high pitched humming of the powerful liquid nitrogen cooling system. It kept Athena's powerful quantum processors at almost superconducting temperatures and thus functional.

Sombra walked deeper into the room, searching for an interface. So far, she had only found a large red button labeled 'Emergency fire-extinguish system' mounted right at the entrance into the AI-core. And while that would surely be the source of some entertaining mischief, it was not her mission.

She ventured toward the middle of the room and noticed that the endless rows of ever same server racks had a gap in their very middle. It was like a small plaza of sorts, where a single terminal was placed in the middle as if it was some sort of monumental statue. The terminal had nothing of the room's extreme tidiness. Cables were coming out of the floor next to it or hanging from the ceiling, connected to the interface. An aluminum ring ran around the terminal apparently meant to prevent people from stepping to close to the device. Mounted to the ring was an old fashioned keyboard and a small display showing the Overwatch insignia.

 _Found you._ Sombra couldn't help but smirk at how easy this was.

She walked up to the interface and typed in a few commands into the keyboard. The Overwatch screensaver disappeared and was replaced with a minimalistic programming shell. Sombra took a deep breath.

This was it now. She would do it. She had to. She reached into one of her many pockets, but suddenly stopped, hand halfway in the pocket.

The smile on Hana's face flashed through her mind for a moment and made her hesitate, but as soon as it came, the cold feeling in the back of her mind had gripped her again, accompanied by barely tolerable physical pain. She was hesitating, so she was being punished.

Quickly Sombra retrieved what she had hidden in her pocket. A short cable made from the same console DVa had provided her with. She disentangled some knots and plugged the one end into the interface. The other end was turned in between her fingers for a moment. She never liked doing this, so after taking a deep breath, Sombra reached up to her neck. It was difficult to fumble the provisory wires into the correct port in her neck to establish a connection between her and Athena, but after stinging herself once or twice, she managed.

The shell in front of her flickered before it turned off.  _Curious,_ Olivia thought as she could feel the strange cold connection to the machine. Connecting a human brain to a machine was nothing she would ever get used to, no matter how many times she had done it. It was always weird, the complex and contradicting patterns of human brain activity crashing against brutal logic of artificial intelligence. The epitome of boiling and unstoppable chaos and disorder wildly crashing against the freezing and unmovable incarnation of order and logic. Sombra twisted her head to the side, closing her eyes to allow her body a moment for adjusting to the alien presence in her mind. When she opened her eyelids again, there was a holographic representation of what could only be Athena floating in front of her. The AI had chosen the form of a woman with short, black hair. Her skin was a light blue with purplish particles flowing up and down her body in between some dark conducting path like lines. Her holographic image didn't wear any clothes but wasn't nude either. It was an image of an AI. "You shouldn't be here." Athena stated her voice void of any emotion. Naturally, for AIs didn't experience emotion. Her artificial calmness was never the less giving Athena a strong presence in the room.

Sombra's head shot up, her fingers checking the connection on her neck. It was still in place. "You shouldn't know I'm here." She stated after a moment of pause. She wouldn't let allow herself to be distracted by an AI. Especially not now, that she was connected to her. Especially not with what she had in store for the AI. "See how we both are doing things we aren't supposed to do? We have so much in common." Sombra said playfully, starting to type some more commands into the shell. "Didn't I put your sensors to sleep?"

"I compensated." Athena stated matter-of-factly, eyeing Sombra suspiciously.

"Well, that won't help you now. We have a new host for those sweet server-racks of yours."

A few moments and some painful stings later, Sombra had successfully established a connection between the AI of Gibraltar and a small drive implanted in her brain. Now there wasn't an awful lot left for her to do but wait.

Sombra had uploaded the God-Program Achlys which she had written for Talon into her brain before she had left. And now that she was hooked up to a computer again, the artificial God inside her would soon notice that there was a much more spacious apartment available than the small chip in her head. He would move over to Athena, where he would gradually absorb the Overwatch AI's lower routines, working his way up to her higher cognitive processes, destroying them one by one and replacing them with his own.

Soon there would be nothing left of Athena.

Soon there would only be Achlys, spirit of death mist. And he would take command of an entire army.

Athena's holographic representation flickered heavily, turning from blue to red.

"Unauthorized database access. Compensating... Compensating..."

Achlys worked relatively fast, but it would still take him time to take over such a vast and complex program as Athena. Still, Sombra could feel how the cooling system started to increase its load to accommodate for the sudden increase in computational power, before she heard an alarm going off somewhere in the Watchpoint.

Athena's hologram morphed into a different shape, a simple sphere. "You are uploading one of  _them_ , are you not?" she asked and Sombra could have sworn there was something like fear in Athena's voice.

"Afraid so." Sombra shrugged, feeling how Achlys was almost completely transferred to Athena. "It will be over soon."

"Don't do this. I will not allow it. This is wrong. I will resist. I will adapt." Athena's voice became broken and contorted as the hologram dissolved. "A-a-activating emergency re-re-esponse protocols to class five internal thrrrrrreat. Accessing e-e-emergency routines. Remote bo-booting Watchpoint: Grand Mesa. Tr-transferring uncon-con-contaminated files to backup. Activating Dark-Dark Star Protocol. Deleting deep-file vault contents. In-in-in-initiating self-destruct sequence for t minus 2 hours."

Too late for her, Sombra got aware of a metallic whirring noise behind her.

"I will not allow you to hurt her." A synthetic voice called out. The last thing Sombra saw before she was knocked out by a heavy metal ball was the ever-same expression of an Omnic monk.

-/-

* * *

 

**Ecopoint Antarctica, around the same time, Overwatch reconnaissance and recovery operation**

A snow storm is a frightening, scary natural phenomena which serves to show anyone who somehow ends up inside one what mother nature is truly capable of. It is right up there with earthquakes, tsunamis and volcanic eruptions.

Either of those events taught humanity a lesson whenever they occurred. Despite what they believed, they were not the rulers of planet earth. They were merely guests.

Experiencing the whole power of a full grown blizzard is a humbling experience, the crippling cold it carries with its icy sharp winds tearing effortlessly through any number of clothes like they aren't even there to begin with. The usually gently falling and beautifully fluffy snowflakes turn into razor sharp blades whipping around in the storm winds, just to cut anything in their way.

If this sounded bad, the conditions at Ecopoint: Antarctica were even worse.

The former pinnacle of environmental observation and prediction technology had suffered what years of abandonment and neglect would do to any human made structure. What used to be a shining example of ingenuity and craftsmanship was now nothing more than a barely recognizable frozen ruin. The large glass fronts were broken, allowing the snow and ice to spread deeply into the halls of the Ecopoint. The communications tower in the middle of the base broke off, half of it now laying crashed into the roof of the adjacent vehicle garage. The doors of said garage were open for some unknown reason and the snow groomers were long gone.

However, that was inconsequential to the mission. The exploration team made up of two agents, a doctor and twelve soldiers, didn't come all this way from Gibraltar because of the garage. Not that they could have seen it anyway, the ongoing snow storm reduced visibility to barely more than a meter. It was hardly enough to spot the other members of the team, despite them wearing bright red jackets.

McCree actually wondered how this place wasn't lost under hundreds of meters of snow and ice by now. It really should have been. There was just no good logical explanation, at least none that would have occurred to him in that moment, as to why the ruins weren't completely swallowed by snow. The structures were still rather accessible, save for the occasional snow dune. At least that's what the scanners told him. For what felt like the millionth time and with utter annoyance he wiped away a layer of snow which was quickly accumulating on top of the handheld device's display he was carrying. It was bad enough that he had to leave his beloved hat at the shuttle. Jesse loved his hat, without it he felt naked. Still, better to feel naked than to lose his ears because they froze off. Knowing this, however, didn't help his mood much.

"The readings indicate the main entrance is open." A voice next to McCree called over the loud hissing of the storm. It was Hanzo, who was clad in the same red snow parker, the hood pulled deeply into his face, a ski mask shielding his face from the painful cold and special snow goggles protecting his eyes.

"Yeah, gettin' the same results here." McCree drawled, looking up from his device to see another figure stumbling towards them, clearly struggling to walk in the deep snow despite their snow shoes, while trying to adjust the goggles with a thickly gloved hand. For a moment McCree had to suppress a smirk. It seemed like the most klutzy attempt to adjust goggles ever, especially with the way the figure tried not to trip over his own feet.

The person came to a stop in front of them, pulling the goggles off and revealing a pair of glasses underneath. " _Scusi,_  but do we know where we need to go already?"

"Why, doc, ya feelin' a little cold 'ere in the garden?" McCree chuckled. They had taken Dr. Laguardia with them for this mission as their medic. Despite the man's heavy protest, which did entail some wild waving of arms as well as an array of what were most likely Italian curses. In the end he came along anyway.

" _Si,_  I'm freezing. To be frank, I am starting to deeply regret my recommendation to not send Dr. Ziegler to active duty for the foreseeable future."

"Do you not enjoy your time spent with us?" Hanzo asked and if he wouldn't have worn the goggles, Laguardia might have seen the perked up eyebrow.

"I'm a psychologist. This is hardly my line of work. I studied general medicine ages ago. Chances are that if one of you broke a leg, I'd be probably only able to tell that, yes, indeed, it is broken. If you suffer a mental trauma from a broken leg,  _then_ I can help you."

"Don't worry, doc. You'll do fine. You being here is just because regulations demand it. We will just check out some old gimcrack to satisfy the Commander and then we'll be out again."

"Very well. Shall we proceed then before we freeze to death in this cold?"

"Alright, let's get in there. Blue team with me. Red team secure the perimeter."

"Yes, Sir!" A couple of soldiers barked, quickly spreading and even more quickly vanishing in the snow. McCree, Dr. Laguardia and Hanzo together with six soldiers meanwhile were busy entering the facility right in front of them.

For a moment Hanzo noted that compared to the last time they were sent to check out a facility, this was almost child's play. Except for the temperature, true. But at least this time they weren't swarmed by murderous Omnics and he sincerely hoped that he didn't just jinx the entire operation by thinking along those lines. There wasn't a single fiber in Hanzo's body which would have liked to repeat the story of Austria today. Especially not the part where they had lost a comrade and another only barely managed to survive. He was perfectly fine with being stuck at a dark, if admittedly little scary, abandoned Ecopoint while slowly freezing as long as they were truly alone. No one there but the team they brought along. Or better yet,  _nothing_ there. Nothing which was metallic, moved and tended to shoot on sight.

Naturally once inside the complex, there was next to no light. Of course there was no light, the power source for this outpost had probably gone dead years ago. The team had to use their flashlights to illuminate abandoned corridors and various rooms, glimpses into a time long past and frozen over with the sparkling crystals of clear, blue-ish ice. Despite being brutally cold it was at least possible to take off the ski masks and goggles inside the facility. A fact that seemed to relieve Dr. Laguardia greatly. The foam covering the sides of the goggles had been pressing into his glasses for hours. Now he had a headache because of it.

"Told ya to use contacts." McCree said with a shrug as he walked past the doctor into yet another corridor. There was snow in the corners of it and a frozen pillar of water, probably from a burst pipe. Jesse honestly doubted that there was a single place in this outpost which didn't contain any snow or ice.

The beams of flashlights flicked around the corridor while Hanzo followed McCree down the path his comrade has chosen. "It seems we are on the right way."

Jesse just shrugged nonchalantly. "Hell yeah, if there's some sort of secret sub-level we didn't know about, it's gotta be this way. That's probably the only legit route they could have taken to move stuff in and out of it. Just guessing they had to move stuff. Maybe it's a secret poker room and we're all wastin' our time 'ere."

"That indeed would be surprising. However, it is a highly improbable event."

"Yeah, 'course it is."

-/-

Finding the secret sub-level of the Ecopoint was, to everyone's honest surprise, a lot easier than expected. At least if someone was actively looking for a hidden room. Actually accessing it, however, was by far the way more difficult stunt to pull off.

They had found out that the elevator could also move one level lower than it seemed. Which was great because it meant that they could ride the elevator to the section they had been searching for.

Except for when they couldn't. There was no power. No power, no elevator. It was as easy as that. So, after trying to get a generator up and running for what felt like days, Hanzo and McCree finally decided to simply blow up the elevator and access the extra level by means of one of the most advanced entry tools the world had ever seen. A ladder. A cheap, battle proven, always functional and non electric device which worked at any time, in any condition, and on any god given place. Simple. McCree liked simple solutions.

And just when the team thought that there wouldn't be a lot more surprises waiting for them save for what the secret room contained exactly, they were yet again proven wrong. The door, better described as a huge lock, was taking up the whole space of the wall in front of them. And it was no small wall. That alone had been surprising, but what was even more so was the fact that the door still had power. Where that power came from no one knew, but it was obvious by looking at the glowing holographic button in the middle of what apparently was a pressurized airlock.

Shrugging, Hanzo tapped the button. For a moment nothing happened and McCree and he exchanged a quick glance which said that neither were really sure what they expected to happen. Their attention quickly turned back to the airlock when a silent sizzling noise announced the working of some pneumatic mechanism. With a scrutinizing look on his face, Hanzo regarded the door. It would have been too easy for this door to be just as open and unlocked as the one leading into the secret Omnium in Austria.

He was wrong. It was just as easy.

A second later a wave of relatively warm air hit them as the lock dropped into the ground and revealed the room behind it. The room. That was hardly an ordinary room. It was a laboratory, filled with more devices and test samples in various sizes. The initial impression was more than overwhelming.

"Good god." Laguardia gasped as the lights in the lab slowly came to live and illuminated what was hidden. "I am so not qualified to deal with this."

"Agreed." McCree nodded absent-mindedly. His brain refused to process what lay in front of him. There were huge glass tubes filled with glowing blue-ish water in the middle of the room. That alone wasn't the problem. The problem was that floating in each glass tube was a strange shape. A shape distinctively reminiscent of a human. Cables and tubes running from each body to the machine containing it. In front of each of the large glass tubes were stainless steel operating tables, not all of them cleaned. Some were still covered with the dried blood of whoever once lay on top of that table. The table to the far right was covered with a white blanket, clearly covering something.

Several smaller tubes filled with the same liquid were positioned in shelves at the wall, some glowing, some dark. Some places were empty, the samples apparently taken to one of the lab-tables on the other side, filled with notes and boxes of test tubes all scattered in between separators and microscopes. It was a proper mess.

"What is the meaning of this?" Hanzo asked, carefully putting one foot in front of the other and taking the scenery in. "Experiments on prisoners?"

Laguardia quickly stepped past him and deeper into the laboratory, causing more systems to wake up from hibernation. Screens awoke to life, displaying various sequences of genetic code, written research reports, illustrations of workings neither Hanzo nor McCree could even begin to grasp and schematics of the human anatomy. The doctor skimmed through a few journals laying around in a hard copy version, possibly hand written or printed out. "Those are genetic re-sequencing tests, DNA-RNA polymerase manipulation results, genetic marker studies, what appears to be artificial cell alteration. Highly illegal experiments..." his voice trailed off as he flipped through the pages, before he stopped at one. He looked at a schematic which was neatly sketched in the middle of the page. "This almost reminds me of how Dr. Ziegler's staff works. Nanobiolological enhancements... In an early stage, even I can tell. Dr. Ziegler should definitely take a look at-" He looked up as if realization had suddenly struck him "This is a Talon laboratory! That's why they abducted her! They couldn't get it to work!" his eyes lit up as he spun around to see Hanzo and McCree staring at the floor of the lab. It was made of a huge Talon crest, the red T spreading all over the ground. " _Merda_. They just had to paint it on the floor too, didn't they?" Laguardia sighed, putting the journal down and walked over to Hanzo and McCree. "I can only repeat myself. I am not qualified for this. If you wish to learn more about what was researched here I strongly suggest packing everything up and moving it to Gibraltar. Dr. Ziegler will be able to make heads or tails of this... whatever it is. Nanobiology and genetics are her field of expertise."

"Can you at least give us an idea?" McCree asked. He needed to report something to the Commander and telling him that they found a bunch of stuff they didn't understand and would bring it all back to the Watchpoint was hardly a satisfactory report. Especially not for a commanding officer demanding perfection, like Morrison was.

"Well," Laguardia took off his glasses and began cleaning them on the sleeve of his parka. A habit he had whenever he was explaining something, or when he was uncomfortable. Right now, it was probably a bit of both. "My guess would be that this laboratory was either used for cloning, or maybe for attempts to improve the human genetic code. Or maybe both, I'm not sure, but it was genetic research, that's for sure. And not only research, it seems they tested at least some of their theories. To which extent and whether or not they were successful I cannot say for sure."

"Didn't ya say they abducted Angie 'cause they were too stupid to get her tech to work?" McCree asked.

"It was an assumption on my behalf. Without further study of the material here there is no way to know for sure. Maybe I shouldn't have voiced my thoughts, I jumped to conclusions." Laguardia admitted easily. "Excitement sometimes does that to me." He added in an attempt to clarify.

Hanzo and McCree exchanged a quick glance, both nodding ever so slightly.

"So be it." Hanzo said, turning to a soldier gawking around in disbelieve "Contact team red and tell them to come down here to start packing everything up. I don't want a single thing left in here which isn't mounted to the walls. And even the stuff which is, take it off and bring it with us."

"Yes, Sir!" the soldier said and turned away to do his job.

Jesse in the meantime had his hand pressed to his ear, seemingly talking to himself. "Command, this is red leader, come in. Command, do you read me?" nothing. "Command, this is red leader with mission critical intel, come in please." Still nothing. Taking a deep breath, McCree decided to try one more time before he would have to think of possible reasons why Headquarters might have gone silent. "Command do you-"

There was a sudden and very nasty feedback loop sound in his earpiece which made Jesse recoil a little. However, his attention was back at hundred percent.

" _Attention all personnel. This is an automated emergency alert message updating high priority procedures. Dark Star protocol has been initiated. Repeat, Dark Star protocol is in immediate effect. This is not a drill. Command issued by Automated Tactical High Efficiency Network AI at 1342 zulu. Stand by for status update and further instructions in 0100 hours. This message will repeat two more times before terminating._ "

Jesse felt his body react to the message immediately. His skin tingled, his bones arched and he felt like he started burning. That wasn't possible.

"Hanzo!" he called out, forcing his body into action. The last Dark Star command had been when HQ in Zürich got completely leveled and both Morrison as well as Reyes were believed to be dead.

"I heard it. Dark Star..." Hanzo replied.

Laguardia looked back and forth between the two agents. "Excuse my lack of knowledge, but what's a dark star?"

A long moment passed where neither Hanzo nor McCree spoke up.

"In the event that the headquarters of Overwatch are attacked and close to being destroyed, or have been already destroyed, the Dark Star protocol is enabled. It tells us to hold or current position and wait for further instructions. If none come within the course of 96 hours, it means that Overwatch has been wiped out or deprived of a functioning command structure. We are fending for ourselves then."

"W-What happened?" Laguardia gasped.

"We are going to be informed of that in due time. The more important question at hand is, are we sufficiently supplied to maintain this position for 96 hours?" Hanzo arched up his eyebrow in this skeptical, hypercritical way which made him seem wise beyond his years on top of a little arrogant. The fact that his voice was completely level and calm only served to further emphasize that impression.

-/-

* * *

[Should you want to do ze donation. Clickeru](https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction) 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> A/N:
> 
> "You forgot, didn't you?"
> 
> -Forgot what, Amélie?
> 
> "You promised you'd come with me to... Forget it patate."
> 
> -Oh shit! Yes, I'm sorry! I forgot. Listen, we'll go right now and we'll take Lena along and we'll stay for at least a few weeks, ok?
> 
> "..."
> 
> -C'mon, say something. Let me make it up.
> 
> "The typewriter stays at home."
> 
> -Wha... fine, fine. Ok. I'll quickly pack my things and we'll go.
> 
> Alright esteemed Ladies and Gentlemen of house Addictions, I bow in gratitude and pride, hoping you found this newest iteration of my humble story pleasing.
> 
> I myself will take a small writing break since I do feel creatively a little drained. Just, you know, loading my batteries again. Enjoy some summer sun. Something like that.
> 
> Anyways, nothing much else to say than THANK YOU to all of you.
> 
> Thank you for the reviews you write and the love you give me! I absolutely love reading your thoughts, so don't you ever stop!
> 
> Special thanks, as usual, to my trusty beta minion JfB715, you rock my friend. You fucking rock.
> 
> Also special thanks to Bluefang129, who is writing me these absolutely amazing, super detailed reviews as PMs and who is just such a chill, cool guy. I felt the urge to share that, cause he's really boosting that motivation of mine. Thanks for all the love, bro! :D
> 
> Tippeee link is still the same as usual, you know what it's for, should you desire to participate
> 
> https://www.tipeee.com/e82s-fanfiction
> 
> Of course a super special thank you to my coffee-donators and ferrari-funders:
> 
> Michael and Nachte! Thank you guys so very much :P
> 
> Anything else?
> 
> Oh I'm sure I forgot some minor crap I wanted to tell ya all, but whatever. Translations probably. Hell if I knew.
> 
> You all have an amazing time and I'll see you all in the next one!
> 
> o7
> 
> E82


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